


Refracting

by velociraptors



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Original Characters - Freeform, Blind Ignis, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hints of LuNoct, Loyalty, M/M, Male Friendship, Male Slash, Mild Gore, POV Alternating, Porn With Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 16:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 90,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velociraptors/pseuds/velociraptors
Summary: Alternate timeline where Noctis manages to defeat Ardyn at the end of Ch. 13 in Gralea. Left nearly dead afterwards, Noctis must recover and rebuild his kingdom from ground up with his friends. However, a strange, new threat arises in Insomnia as the Astrals ordain a new fate for the Chosen King and his friends.





	1. Chapter 1

**001.**

 

The glowing landscape envelops him slowly with its overpowering hues of purple and blue, swirling and surrounding him like a thick membrane slowly closing in on him. Noctis faintly recalls the sensation of having been floating on air like this once long ago when he'd been eight and had fallen into that long, long dream that had apparently lasted days. He had found out when he had woken up afterwards that he'd been in a coma the whole time, and his father had rarely left his bedside, occasionally weeping quietly to himself or pressing the carbuncle charm near his cheek to protect him in his slumber. 

He doubts that will be the case now, his father long since gone, and the most recent memories Noctis still possesses from before this dream are of himself trapped in a dimly lit chamber, staring Ardyn down with the crystal standing judge between them, a mysterious pulsing light from its shards stretching out in a blinding penumbra around its form while it delivered its final sentence. The light had firmly wrapped itself around his entire form like vines, the heat of it touching his skin and burning him from within, and now, as he peers down the length of his arm, it's undeniable the damage it had caused while spiraling through every blood cell in his body. 

More burn marks decorate the side of his neck and face as he touches over them curiously, wondering if the crystal had ended up taking his life after all. It would feel like a bitter but appropriate ending after fighting so hard to retrieve it, but he can't seem to draw up a precise memory of the exact moment when he inhaled his last breath. His head is far too scrambled right now, fragmented by fear, shock, and fury, and he struggles to find some solid ground beneath him just so he can start working out where he is exactly or what is going on. 

Just as that thought crosses his mind, he feels something soft curling up by his face and limbs, the texture gentle and wispy where it brushes against his body. His hands curiously reach out to touch the unknown entity, and it becomes all the more apparent that he's lying down on some kind of surface. The murkiness from his vision draws apart like curtains being pulled aside, and the overwhelming scent hits him first before he's treated to the sight of all the brilliant violet-colored flowers blooming and floating all around him. 

_A field of sylleblossoms._

Is he truly dead then? He remembers most of the flowers had burnt up inside of Tenebrae, a sight that had been harshly branded into his mind as they had passed through its ruins on the way to Gralea, the embers still painting the sky around its castle bright red as though its towers had begun to bleed angrily into the backdrop. The remnant stems of the stripped blossoms looked sad and dilapidated, though there were still some children picking through them, holding the surviving buds in their hands and offering a few to him - _'to remember her by,'_ they had said. 

In their youth, Luna used to press the flower between the pages of the journal they would trade back and forth, and the imprint of it would last for years along with the floral smell that Noctis used to revisit so many times in his dreams. However, it had never smelled as powerful to him as it does now, Noctis practically inhaling a mouthful of them with each breath, and he has to wonder if this isn't some fevered dream instead. 

_Death or an illusion -which is it?_

His body slowly curls to his feet, pain rippling through him as he tries to move his stiff muscles, unsure what he'll be greeted by except the field beneath him seems to endlessly stretch in all directions with no border in sight. If there's anything or anyone else out there, it'd be impossible to find, but Noctis doesn't have a lot of options right now aside from lying down and trying to force himself back to sleep. The silence is a little too eerily deafening for him to do that, resolving to urge himself forward and explore. 

A familiar chirping noise captures his attention after just a few steps and draws his sight to his new companion, the same carbuncle from his youth sitting by a gate and watching him curiously with its head cocked to one side. Another chirping noise spills out from between its snout, and Noctis' phone suddenly vibrates in his pocket, nearly making him jump out of his skin. How long had those two things been there? He hesitates before plucking out his phone to check the message on it- 

(( The princess awaits you. Don't you want to see her after all this time? ))

_Luna?_

Noctis blinks slowly, trying to process once more how much of this is real, though it wouldn't be the first time he's dreamed of her. Too many nights he'd caught himself reliving the vestiges of their childhood together and replaying all the words she'd ever told him then rewinding through all the pages of folklore books they'd read together. The pictures had always been clearest in his dreams but would fade back into blurred colors and abstract sketches by morning. The same was true of Luna's face. Even after her death, he had trouble trying to recall the way she'd looked to him in Altissia, his mind always desperate to sharpen the features that his tears would blot into an absolute mess. How many nights had he simple just wanted to remain in the crowd as she spoke, feeling her words quiver through every foundation he'd walked on since birth?

His legs weigh just as heavily as they had then when he starts to traipse through the sylleblossom field, following the carbuncle's swishing tails as it leads him through the gate. On the other side lies the Citadel as it had before he departed from Insomnia, everything immaculately in tact, untouched by the ravages of the Niflheim Empire. He continues to move forward where the throne room is located only to halt his steps by the entrance way when he catches sight of himself -older, peaceful, undoubtedly more regal. It's not a face he ever expected to see in the mirror, but he knows, without question, that it is himself. 

Next to the throne is where Luna sits draped in the wedding gown he'd seen on display in Altissia, the beautiful white fabric pouring down the platform like a snow-covered waterfall. Her smile is serene as she watches him -as they _both_ watch him-, and it's clear he's not exactly an unwelcome guest at whatever event is taking place. His wedding or… his coronation? 

His eyes skim over all the banners as streamers rain down from the ceiling, and he struggles to try and figure out what exactly is going on and why he's being shown this vision. 

"What am I doing here?" he finally asks out loud, his voice thick and raspy with unspoken emotion, and his phone vibrates eagerly in response. 

His gaze immediately drifts over to the carbuncle by his side whose tails remain twitching behind it. 

(( Wasn't this the future you had hoped for? ))

Had he really? Maybe at some point before arriving to Altissia he could have fantasized about this. This could have been his destined 'once upon a time' and 'happily ever after', but it hadn't worked out that way at all, had it?  

"Why are you showing me this?" he continues to press.

The older version of him looks unquestionably prim and dignified. Like he'd been born to sit on the throne, but Noctis had only accepted that reality in his heart just a few hours ago when he'd arrived in Gralea. Whether or not he ever actually would have had been left up in the air. Back then, he'd mostly been fighting just to survive and not to rule, but the thought of going home again… it's a nice one. It feels like it's been an eternity since he'd last seen Insomnia.

The phone vibrates once more, and he glances at the screen instantly this time. 

(( Each path leads to a different future. A different fate. This is only one of many, but for every decision you make, the future opens up a new branch. ))

"-and you were never meant to defy fate," a voice finishes, this one loud and booming.

It sends chills immediately scraping down Noctis' spine like a miniature behemoth clawing along vulnerable tissue as the prince whips around to face the source, not expecting to suddenly be confronted by empty air. The Citadel dissolves in an instant, leaving behind a wretched wasteland bathed entirely in darkness around them. Several daemons erupt from the ground like corpses crawling out of the dirt, reminding him of the desiccated ones that had inhabited Gralea's cityscape, and they groan and start clawing their way towards him from every direction. Noctis barely has enough time to try and summon his weapons, fingers held out in a grasping position, waiting for his magic to respond -but it never does. The ring, his weapons, his powers… they're all gone.

His body tenses as he realizes how helpless he is, and he backs away from the daemons encroaching in on him, all howling and trying to trap him in the center or their mob.

"You were a boy who would only live to be king for a day, and when you were to sit on the throne at last, your life would have been taken. You were to pay the blood price." 

That voice continues to make Noctis' heart race feverishly in his chest as he sinks further back, feeling cornered. However, the daemons all disintegrate into muddied black miasma before they can even drag their nails against his stricken face. Everything's an illusion, but it doesn't stop the terror that burrows its way across the pit of his stomach as he tries to figure out just who or _what_ is talking to him at the moment. 

"I don't… I don't understand," he says quietly, his body reaching the edge of whatever prison he's currently trapped into, pressing into an invisible surface and sliding down against it.

"You were the chosen King. To vanquish the darkness, you would have to sacrifice all which you hold dear, yet… you live. Your body, your mind, your will." 

The voice finally takes a true form, a large being materializing before him that swells across Noctis' vision completely. He can see nothing else but its brilliant armor, the wing-like appendages stretched from one end of the tiny 'worldscape' they inhabit at the moment to another, and the golden glint of light comes close to blinding him with its reflection. The figure hovers before him as an armored beast, pinning him down with its ethereal stare, and Noctis has never felt smaller and more insignificant, wondering if this creature would deliver divine judgment right here and now -to take the payment that Noctis was supposed to have given with his life. 

"You live because you want to fight, and you live because you love your companions. Your heart does not allow the rest of you to die quietly." 

His …companions.

_Gladio, Prompto, Ignis…_

That's right. He'd left them back in Gralea. They had been by his side when he'd faced Ardyn, his powers cycling through them as they all charged at the Chancellor. Because of them, they had managed to overpower him somehow. The crystal's light had run through all four of them, using him as a conduit, though he can't even begin to figure out how he managed to channel that much pure energy through himself or what even happened. The exact events still remain a patchwork of images with no threads to really tie them all together.

"Did they …live?" he asks carefully, now suddenly seized with the worry that they may have died in his place. 

He could never forgive himself if they're the reason why he's still alive right now. It should have been him. _It should have been him._

"They do," the figure answers after a beat, much to Noctis' fervent relief, "they await the return of their king now, but a boy still sits here. A scared and lost boy. How did you defeat the encroaching darkness… I know not yet." 

There's a small sound erupting like a bellow of laughter, and the figure draws forward, wings of several blades turning inwards to trap the two of them in their embrace. 

"But you do not have to return if you would rather remain in this realm and follow the true path." 

The enigmatic words echo all around him in a booming reverberation, and when Noctis blinks again, the scenery shifts abruptly once more -now showing him standing again upon the field of sylleblossoms. In the center is Luna just as she'd been twelve years ago, young and dressed in pure white as the wind ruffles the fabric of her garment around her thin legs. Her hair curls against her delicate features, face just as soft and unguarded as it had been in his dreams. 

"Prince Noctis," she whispers quietly, and as her body turns, her form shifts, limbs stretching out, round facial features sharpening, strands of hair branching out further across the wind. She starts to run towards him, yet the closer she gets, the older her body grows until the woman he'd seen behind the podium that day in Altissia stands before him.

Her eyes find his, the blue of them captivating like the flowers that drown the two of them, and the scent of all those sylleblossoms continues to overwhelm him as the wind carries them between their bodies, practically choking him with the furor of their aroma.

"Luna," he says quietly, though his voice sounds so cracked and broken to his own ears. 

The last time he'd seen her... Noctis hadn't even gotten the chance to hold her body before it had been swallowed up by the encroaching darkness of unconsciousness, and he struggles now to find the right words to apologize that he couldn't be there for her. He couldn't save her at all because he hadn't been strong enough then -isn't sure if he'd even call himself strong now. He thinks anger had possessed him more in the last fight more than any true skill after having carried with him a burdensome rage for his fallen kingdom, the deaths of his father and Luna, almost losing Prompto for so long. It was only a matter of time before he'd end up unleashing it on Ardyn. 

Before he can open his mouth again, her fingers wander over his cheeks, thumbs brushing away the tears he hadn't been aware he'd been shedding. The texture of her skin feels too soft and unmarred, warmth drifting from her hands and spreading over his own flesh, and she draws his forehead in close to touch against her own to comfort him.

"I missed you," she confesses quietly, and Noctis wishes he could say the same. Words are eluding him fast even with her standing right here before him -even knowing this might be their one and only chance to speak to each other. "But you know as well as I," she continues, her tone remaining gentle even in their gravity, "it's not your time, yet… the world needs a king." 

But what kind of king could he be? How many people had already fallen before him? Would his throne be a pile of bones for him to sit on were he to return? He's not confident that he deserves a second chance at all, that it wouldn't be better for him to stay here. At the same time, he feels like he hasn't earned this eternal rest, either. What had he really accomplished? Can he really be sure the darkness has been lifted if he can't even remember the last time he'd felt the first rays of dawn stroke the back of his eyelids? His friends are also waiting for him. To leave them behind after getting this far with them… he knows he's not ready. He has so much left he wants to say and do, and he hasn't made peace with it all, yet. 

The tears keep streaming down his face as Luna's fingers follow down the twin trails, tracing over the damp tracks and smearing them across his skin, and he faintly recognizes the glowing light around her fingers, that soothing touch that slowly fuses more warmth into his body.

"This won't be the last time we meet," she continues, her voice softening as her fingers end up resting on either side of his neck, and Noctis nods mutely, knowing she's right.

Staying here would mean running away from everything that awaits, and he can't let himself do that, either. The guys are still counting on him to return, to go home with them -to see Insomnia after being way from it for nearly a year. 

_There's still so much left to do._

Luna echoes those words back at him with a small smile before withdrawing her hands fully, an empty, cloying feeling left in their wake as cold air coils along his flesh. Her body starts to unravel itself as the sylleblossoms from the ground start to rise and form pillars between them, gradually drowning his vision, and only through the veil of them, he sees her fade away, and Noctis feebly raises one arm to try and cling to the empty air that's left -to the disintegrating memory that will too become an abstract blur to him when he wakes up. 

"Have you made your choice?" the winged creature asks, hovering behind him with both of its armored hands resting on the hilt of a gold-plated sword almost as big as the Citadel itself. 

Noctis is slow in turning around to face him, shoulders hunched over with lingering uncertainty and hesitation, and his eyes refusing to leave the space that Luna inhabited. He knows he must return home, but he also can't fully quell the fear brimming along the inside of his chest cavity. If he's no longer heading for the fate that had been set in stone for him since birth, then what fate does await him? He's afraid to find out that the gods may once again try and collect their payment or that he may end up continuously evading his fate and turning into someone as bitter and cynical as Ardyn, numbed from within and removed from the ability to feel empathize with others any longer.

The carbuncle appears by his side as if in response to his concern, breaking through his thoughts with a poignant chirping sound, and Noctis' phone vibrates in his pocket. 

(( Are you ready to find out, King Noctis? )) 

His fingers slowly reach for his phone, reading the message over and over before finally giving the large entity entity a single, resolute nod. 

"I am." 

The massive sword is drawn before him, the length of it as imperious as it is intimidating as it swings downwards upon him as if to slice him in half. While every instinct screams at Noctis to move away, he doesn't, eyes trained upwards, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that he'll be all right. Light pierces through the blade's reflective surface as it touches the top of Noctis' head, leaving Noctis to feel nothing else but the light's burning embers embracing every inch of his body, scorching him until the pain that sears through him makes him scream himself raw in agony.  

 

 **002.**

 

The warmth of the light outside of the window brushes across his face, practically piercing the backs of his shuttered eyes, the only indication Ignis has that it's morning, though Prompto has also made a habit of setting his phone alarm to announce the hour to him just to keep some semblance of rhythm in his life. To think even something as innocuous as knowing what time of the day it is had become a luxury, but there are a lot of things lost now that Ignis realizes he'd taken for granted. It hadn't been easy retraining his body to dress in the mornings or even to scoop food into his mouth when he can't tell where it is, which had lead to a fair share of humiliating incidents for the normally poised man. 

The worst adjustment is being unable to read moods through visual cues any longer and having to parse through the subtle clues in the tone of voice of others to try and gauge how or what they are feeling, a skill which has to be utilized with infinite patience around those who aren't as verbally expressive. Someone like Noctis. He's always prided himself on his innate perceptiveness, and there had been no loss more crippling to him when it came to dealing with others, so he'd felt more withdrawn in that respect, unable to really empathize with others in the same way when he's left guessing at what the world looks like around him. 

Leaving Gralea a month ago had been a feat in itself with daemons chasing them down at every corner, groaning angrily or reaching out to try and grab a hold of them with their poison-slathered claws. Ignis still remembers the sounds they made all too clearly, the raw and primal screeching that follows him deep into nightmares, and it's troubling to wake up afterwards shrouded in darkness without any sense of reality -always feeling the distortion of it all when he tries to figure out where his dream ends and the morning begins. In those moments, it's always the warmth from the window that comforts him -tells him he's really awake and no daemons are hovering around to tear his eyeballs right out of his face. 

The pain from his wounds had long since faded, leaving only scars in their wake, but at night, the blood still feels fresh, the copper scent curling acridly in the air when he tries to breathe. He's still reliving that one poignant moment even after all this time, unable to focus as much as he wants to -even when he knows he should. However, they don't know when Noctis will wake up - _if_ he'll even wake up. He'd absorbed too much of the crystal's power into himself too quickly in order to defeat Ardyn, and it had nearly tore him up from the inside, the piercing screams that had erupted from him still just as fresh to Ignis as the memory of being blinded. Ignis couldn't see at all what he looked like then, which had perhaps been for the better. The aural depiction of it alone had left him sick and unsettled, but Gladio had told him it hadn't been at all pleasant. More than half of his body had been charred up, and he could barely stand up after. Gladio had to carry him out of the Keep on his back and had also arranged for an airlift with Aranea's assistance. 

Since then, the four of them had returned to Lestallum where Noctis had remained in the ICU ward of their local hospital, hooked up to all kinds of life support equipment. Cor had dropped by when he heard of the prince's victory and had expressed his condolences that he wasn't there to assist. He'd been heading the remaining hunters, Kingsglaive, and Crownsguard members to try and control the burgeoning daemon population around Duscae. The few survivors from the swell of daemon attacks on Eos were being taken care of with the aid of Prompto and Gladio, who had both joined the Cor's initiative. Gladio had reasoned that it's a better use of their time and resources than sitting around and watching Noctis' lifeless body all day, so Ignis had volunteered to keep him company in the hospital when he wasn't busy training or trying to reteach himself how to cook through touch, sound, and taste. 

Iris had also stopped by for days at a time to sit by the prince's bed and talk to him as normal, something the doctors had encouraged would aid his recovery. She'd remarked that his external wounds were healing up slowly, which isn't a surprise given Noctis' bloodline and his command of magic. The doctors had already concluded that his body would naturally restore itself from the most grievous of wounds, though a few potions had aided the process significantly. Now, what's left for him is to open his eyes and move out of his bed on his own, which is starting to feel like a fool's hope at this point. Several weeks without a response and even Ignis had been feeling restless and thinking he must sound absolutely insane to anyone within hearing range whenever he carries on a one-sided conversation with the comatose prince.

Today is no different as he'd spent the evening chatting quietly with him and trying to find some way to fall asleep while being uncomfortably crammed into an arm chair by Noctis' bed, only soothed by the sounds of the prince's deep and steady breaths. A part of him keeps worrying that they would suddenly cease without warning at some point in the middle of the night, leaving Ignis more on edge than he'd like to admit, and he'd also found himself routinely feeling around all the wires and tubes connected to Noctis until he could reach the prince's face just to reassure himself that there's warmth still emanating from him -still blood moving beneath his flesh. 

It hadn't been easy knowing he's in the room with him but also not being able to observe his state as carefully as he had all these years since he'd come into Noctis' service. Through all his past illnesses and injuries, he'd been the one at the prince's bedside when the king could no longer be present himself, though he had always made grievous efforts to be with his son. Ignis had admired him a lot for it, well aware how much he loved and cared for Noctis and knowing that no one else could give him the same comfort, though he had attempted for years to at least try and ease the pain of the king's absence. 

Even now, he's trying to be stable presence at Noctis' side, though the helplessness digs into him hard because all he can give him at the moment are words -words that might be meaningless, words that might be forgotten, words that will probably never reach him.

"To think you would end up in a vegetative state after spending your whole life avoiding them," he jokes dryly, trying to diffuse his own tension more than anything else, though the only one feeling tense at all in this room is himself. Even while knowing the burden Noctis has always had to carry, he'd never imagined Noctis would end up toeing the line so close to death at just the age of twenty.

No, twenty one. His birthday had passed a week ago, though it had been a solemn affair. Neither of them had really felt like celebrating at all, and it definitely hadn't felt the same when he could no longer make any of Noctis' favorite sweets for him to spoil with him. Every year before then, Noctis would always grace him with the smallest of smiles no matter what cake he made for him, but that evening the three of them had only gathered here long enough to split a pizza pie with each other, and ever the one to keep the mood light, Prompto had put a party hat on Noctis' comatose body before making all three of them scrunch in for a photo. He'd promised to show it to Noctis when he'd awaken, still bearing every confident belief that the prince would, and Ignis wishes he could share that same unyielding conviction.

A lot of things had happened in the past several months to make him question how far along this journey he'd go, and now that his own ability to perform his duties has been jeopardized, it's only pure selfishness that keeps him by Noctis' and his friends' sides. Selfishness and loneliness. 

His own family had perished in the attack on Insomnia, no survivors at all. Noctis is the closest thing he'd had to a brother growing up aside from Gladio. He's not quite ready to part with them, unsure where he'd even go or what he'd do. His whole life had been molded around serving the future king until Noctis passed away, and then he would serve Noctis' children and his grandchildren, assuming he'd even live that long.

Not once did he see himself do anything but fulfill his duty to the crown of Lucis, but if Noctis doesn't live, then he'll need some kind of plan. And even if he does, in what capacity could he advise him? He's limited in how much he can strategize without relying on someone else to carefully lay out all the information and details for him, all tasks he used to be able to take care of on his own. Even back in Gralea, Noctis had to rely more on himself than their assistance and had come out of it only narrowly with his life, a fact too painfully obvious right now. There was nothing Ignis could do to protect him, and now, the prince lies dormant and unresponsive, a husk of his old self.

Living with so many failures piling on him at once is a bit unbearable, finding himself desperately clinging to his composure more than usual, especially when he tries to imagine what the final battle must have looked like. All he remembers of it personally is the stench of the daemons' miasma as they fell one by one, releasing the microbes into the air. It had been a struggle not to inhale any of it nor to retch in response. He also remembers faintly smelling blood and burnt flesh beneath it, his heart hammering when he realized the strongest aroma came from Noctis himself when he fell, but his fingers tracing over him now tell him that the wounds are closed. The flesh beneath has repaired significantly, and the hair on his scalp has also been growing back steadily. He'll need a proper haircut to even it out when he awakens.

A faded memory flits through his mind just then, remembering how Noctis had accidentally gotten gum stuck into his hair when he was seven years old. He'd ran to him distressed while pulling on the gum, desperate to yank it out. Ignis had to carefully cut it free for him then give him an impromptu haircut to even out the layers. King Regis had not been pleased with either of them when he saw it, but he did chuckle in the end and assure him that living with such a haircut is punishment enough for the both of them. Since then, Noctis had also been adverse to allowing him to touch his hair at all, but his school photo that year had lived in infamy. 

Noctis had always been addicted to trouble since he left the womb, a fact that had given him far too many sleepless nights than he'd like to count, but he always believed that Noctis would pull through somehow. He's always been a survivor, except now he's not entirely confident, and his fingers draw over the prince's eyelids, feeling them twitch under his touch -the only evidence he's still alive at the moment. 

"It's difficult for me now to know you're like this...," he quietly confesses aloud, voice solemn, "fighting by your side, serving you ...you were troublesome, but you never made me regret having been chosen to serve you." 

His finger pads remain hovering over Noctis' dancing eyelids, trying to piece together some hidden message in the rhythm of their gentle twitching all the while knowing it's futile. It's just a sign that he's dreaming somewhere in the abyss of his thoughts where his words can't reach him at all, but Ignis wishes he could hear his voice once more if only know to know that he hadn't failed him and King Regis completely in protecting him. He had sworn years ago to always remain by his side, a promise he still feels inclined to keep whether or not he feels like he can fulfill his role fully.

He moves his fingertips further down, letting them rest on the mask above Noctis' mouth, imagining he can feel his lips under and his breath crawling free warmly, another fervent reminder that all isn't lost yet. He's so distracted trying to piece through his own thoughts and worry at the moment that he misses the door swinging open and shut behind him. It's not until he picks up the sound of footsteps coming towards him that he realizes he's no longer alone, and judging from the sound of the gait, it's definitely Prompto. While he still has trouble separating strangers apart, he's learned well enough by now how to discern both Gladio's and Prompto's movement patterns.

"Still nothing?" Prompto asks quietly, and Ignis follows the sounds of his steps until they stop on presumably the other side of the bed. There are monitors beeping all around his hushed whisper, but Ignis finds he has no trouble parsing where his voice is in relation.

"Not since I woke up. The monitors haven't changed in tone once, either." 

"Figures he'd be taking his sweet time recovering all the beauty rest he lost over the whole trip." 

Ignis' lips quirk up at the small jab, managing to show some humor in the situation even if his heart still sits too heavy inside his chest. 

"Maybe we just need to find a prince to kiss him? Like in that fairy tale," Prompto continues without hesitation.  

Those words draw a quiet chuckle from him this time, recalling the tale well. It was one he'd read with Noctis prior to the attack that had almost taken his life as a child. After that, he had refused anymore bedtime stories and tended to fall asleep without so much as a word, curled up on one side of his bed, his blankets hugging him like a cocoon. The nightmares were still crippling to the prince even after all these years later, leaving him tossing about and murmuring unintelligible words to some enemy that neither of them could see. 

"Are you volunteering?" Ignis asks in return, breaking himself out of his revelry as his face reflexively lifts towards Prompto's general direction. 

It's still a habit to want to look at him, though the guess-work often makes him wonder if he's not staring at lamp or a coat rack instead when he's talking. Sometimes, it'd be easier just keeping his head bowed, but all the manners that had been drilled into him since birth make it impossible to ignore certain social expectations. 

"Me? Nah, I'm no prince. Come to think of it, Noctis is the only prince I've ever met." 

"You forget Prince Ravus of Tenebrae..." 

Who had smelled of rotting flesh when they faced him. He didn't have to see him to get an idea how far his body had decayed from the scourge. Ignis could also recall too well the tormented voice with which he spoke, practically begging to be put out of his misery. Whatever the scourge had done to him, he is rather glad that they were indeed able to deliver him to rest. Not even a complicated and divisive man such as himself had deserved such a piteous end to his life. 

"Yeah, I guess," Prompto murmurs after a moment, and Ignis can tell from his tone that he's already wishing he hadn't brought it up. 

A lot of their wounds from Gralea are still fresh, barely coagulated in a month's time, and he imagines even Prompto is still struggling to make peace with what happened to him there and the revelations Ardyn had given him about his true self. Ignis and Gladio hadn't wanted to pry to deeply into it and make him feel as though they'd suddenly turn their suspicions on him. It was better for Prompto to work his way through it all in his own time and come to terms with it. They'd all meant what they said that day -Prompto is who he is and nothing else. He has never been given any reason to think their friend would harm Noctis or any of them, not after how anguished he'd looked when he thought Ardyn had finished Noctis off. He'd been the first by his side with tears gathered at his eyes and his arms clutching the prince, helping to hold his battered and mangled body. 

"Are you planning on spending another day here?" Prompto asks, "You're starting to look kind of pale... we can go for a walk or something, if you'd like?" 

He knows it's Prompto's way of expressing concern for the fact that he's barely left the hospital much outside of going to their room in the Leville and back. He'd memorized the pathway so well that he doesn't even need assistance any longer traveling back and forth, but he also doesn't have much else to do between trying to cook, trying to organize provisions, trying to function, driving himself a little mad with all his mistakes. Frustration has never been a quaint friend of his, but he's always managed to surpass certain difficulties in the past with practiced ease. This is the first time he's ever felt truly hindered and at odds with himself and what he knows he should be able to accomplish. He's hardly the first blind man to exist, and many have gone on to become great hunters, artists, musicians... why does he feel like the only one trapped by his own mental barriers? 

His head shakes after a moment, grateful for the sympathy but also unwilling to burden Prompto at the moment when he knows that he should be out hunting or doing something else to distract himself from the fact that their friend is practically a corpse a few feet away from them. 

"Come on, it'd be fun! We can go through the market, and you can sniff out the spices and pick the good ones. Bet you're like a bloodhound now with that nose."  

"While my sense of smell does indeed feel sharper than before, it's not as though I can smell rabbit or wild game from 25 miles away. You're out of luck." 

He feels Prompto's hand tap against his shoulder before the smaller man physically pries him out of his arm chair. It's hard to argue when he's putting physical force behind it, and Ignis isn't one to grapple with anyone. Instead, he only struggles to keep his balance, already feeling around for his cane to assist him. Though he's gotten better at walking around without it, he still prefers having the crutch in case he needs it just to avoid the undignified possibility of walking straight into a lamp post. 

Fortunately, Prompto is effective in guiding him, one arm moving around his waist to help him in the direction of the door, and Ignis can't resist turning his head towards where he knows Noctis lies, trying to focus on the beeping noises, wishing they'd change even if just for a moment. He doesn't know how long he can go on straining his hope like this, but what other choice does he have? 

_'Return to us soon, Noct,'_ he pleas mentally before Prompto urges him through the door.

For a delirious moment, he thinks he hears a change in one of the monitors, a sudden, rising high-pitched beep, but when he tries to focus on it again, it's gone. No response. Noctis' status remains the same. 

 

**003.**

 

His throat hurts from screaming, but he can't stop as pain rips right through the center his body, the savage intensity of it coiling around each one of his blood vessels until Noctis almost wishes he were still dead. Had it all been a dream in the end? Pain this volatile can't be real, especially when it crushes in on him from every angle every time he tries to breathe. The rawness of it leaves him practically shaking and near-sobbing, struggling against all the machines, and through the deliriousness of his agony, he feels several orderlies pushing him down, needles being jabbed in whatever vein they can tap, anything to calm the fury of light and sensation as Noctis tries to make sense of where he is and _why_ his heart continues to beat right now. The swell of emotions and confusion in his head is almost too much to bear, the feeling compounding as his body starts to throb from head to toe, and he lets out a shuddered breath, trembling hard beneath the firm grip of all the orderlies crowded around him. 

None of the faces are ones he recognizes, and the scent of the room he's trapped in is too acidic and sterile. The looming figures look at him with red glowing eyes, eerie and undaunted, piercing through his frame. He wonders if he's still in Gralea. Had he been captured? No, he definitely won... he's sure he won. Would he be turned into an MT now? Are they going to force the scourge inside him to ravage his body? 

All ludicrous thoughts he has to keep stamping down, though he remembers Prompto's face when they found him, the wide-eyed stare from his pale eyes, limbs shaking as he tugged at his shackles. Noctis had been terrified of whatever they'd done to him but not as terrified as Prompto's thought that either of them might hate him. Noctis wishes he could have reassured him better then. 

His mind flickers to Gladio next, the anger all dissolved from his face. His fury had melted into the worry sometime while they'd all been separated, and the two of them had been nothing but mutually relieved when they reunited. For once, he actually wanted to hug him. 

Next to him, had been Ignis, soft-spoken and concerned. Even with his eye injury, his expression could speak volumes.

Where are all three of them now? 

He immediately suspects the worst, trying to fight against the bindings, still too confused to parse through his current surroundings. While a more reasonable part of his mind tells him he can't possibly be in Gralea anymore, he's lashing out with the fear of an irrational animal trying to escape and seek some sort of haven. It isn't until all the sedatives start to work their way through his system that he calms down a little, slowly melting under everyone's grip and deflating while he breathes out more steadily. 

One of the women approaches him to measure his temperature while the other one next to her starts scribbling furiously on her notepad.

"You've been through quite the ordeal, Jared." 

He blinks slowly, trying to wade through his confusion, especially at the name.

"Ja...red?" his voice is a hoarse croak, barely above a whisper, and he stares at the doctor, wondering why she's calling him that.

"Yes, Jared. Is that not your name? It's the one your friends gave when you were checked in." 

He has to blink a couple of more times to try and process all that, relieved to hear that his friends are still okay somewhere even if it seems like they had just dumped him in a hospital and left. No, he doubts they abandoned him here, but it does make him uneasy that they're gone at the moment. They also probably chose a fake name to keep him secure and keep any lingering imperials from finding him. It sounds like something Ignis would come up with, so he exhales once more even slowly than before and nods.

"Yeah," he concedes.

The next few minutes are full of all kinds of questions about how he feels, what he remembers, what parts of his body he can move. A month lying in bed would have caused any normal person to atrophy significantly, but his body had been repairing itself rather fast with his own magic. Even most of the burn marks had faded from what he could see of his arms, which is good. He doesn't want to spend his life looking like a charred up corpse, no matter how long or short it might end up being. 

His blood pressure is checked a few times before one of the nurses comes to poke under his gown to try and gauge how much the wounds have cleared up, an act which makes him try to shuffle away in embarrassment as she spends an inordinate amount of time manipulating and pawing at his body. She scribbles extra notes down on her notepad with interest, and Noctis can only imagine what kind of medical anomaly he's proving to be. Whatever happened to him probably should have killed him, yet here he is, recovering at a rate that no human should achieve. What point really is there in giving a false name? There are lots of things about himself he can never hide. 

When he's shown his belongings, there's barely much of them left. His custom phone is all but scraps, and his clothes and shoes are tattered up and barely hanging together by threads. He hopes one of the guys can lend him some clothes to walk out of here in, assuming they'll even let him out. Time seems to move at an agonizingly slow pace, left to trace the ceiling tiles with his shifting eyeballs. 

One hour later, and he's already sick of this place. He's never really liked hospitals or medical wards, his memory of them tainted by the injuries from the attack he'd received as a kid. He had spent some time in one in Insomnia before he'd ultimately been transferred to Tenebrae when his wounds had been deemed too grievous to be repaired through normal medicine. The white walls, overly bright lights, the smell of formaldehyde seeping into his lungs... it had been a relief to escape. 

Thinking about it now reminds him of the strange dream he had woken up from, trying to scroll back to it, though he can only recall faint glimpses of what he'd seen -the winged armor, the carbuncle, Luna's young face smiling at him. What had she been trying to tell him then? The words had been scattered about somewhere in his head, leaving him to try to grasp desperately at the hints and clues, though they keep eluding him fast and evaporating between his fingers. Had any of that even been real? It's hard to tell, not even sure how long it's been since he entered the hospital. The doctor implied it had been quite a while, though he can't discern that from the length of his dream. It hadn't _felt_ that long, but since when has sleep ever made time slow down at all?.

He heaves out a sigh as the nurses start rearranging some of the tubes around him, and he tries to ask about where his friends went, only to be given the answer that his 'blind butler' and the 'cute blond' had both stepped out earlier. By how much had he missed them? And when will they come back? If his phone wasn't currently in pieces, he'd just use it to call them. Outside of that, maybe he can use the hospital phone… but it's not like he really remembers any of their numbers at all. A lifetime of having his cell phone record everything for him hadn't given much incentive to bother memorizing them, so that just leaves him lying here and hoping they come back soon so they can fill him in on whatever is going on. 

His stomach chooses that moment to growl piteously, reminding him he probably hasn't eaten in …however long since he'd gotten here. His last meal had been in Gralea, and it had been distinctly nauseating from what he remembers, a squashed and stale protein bar he'd gotten from the train. Definitely nothing that would have been fitting for a final meal if he had fallen there that day. What he wouldn't give for one of Ignis' juicy, flame-broiled garula burgers right about now. Not that he'd even be able to make it for him anymore.

The last time they'd properly camped had been in Cartarnica, and their meal choices hadn't been all that better than the scraps he'd devoured in Gralea. He wonders if Ignis will ever be able to cook again or if he'd even want to try. Maybe Noctis ought to learn to do it on his own properly from now on, but Ignis had told him how much it meant to him to make food for other people -how much he loved seeing the joy on everyone's faces whenever they eat something he makes. The thought that he might never experience that level of happiness aches worse than any wound on his body, knowing how much he had lost that day in Altissia. He'd been too wrapped up in his own grief to properly acknowledge it, but a lot of things had changed that day. A lot of things will continue to change going forward. It's not like Noctis has anywhere left to go but Insomnia now, though he doesn't really know what to do beyond that. Perhaps, exterminate the last of the daemons there then figure out how he's going to salvage the ruins of their home?

It's almost too overwhelming to think about now, especially when he's feeling rather lonely, left to idly stare up at the ceiling for entertainment and having a hell of a time counting every single little perforation. By the 9th or 10th iteration, he starts feeling drowsy once more, head lulling to the side as his breath deepens. He's barely even aware when new steps shuffle inside, only feels the bed rattle as someone collides right into it.

"No way! Was he like that before? I could've sworn his head moved from where we last left it." 

That's definitely Prompto. 

"I will have to take your word for it." 

And that's Ignis. He tries to force his eyes to open again, fighting against the ceaseless weight of exhaustion before quietly mumbling something garbled into the pillow. Just how many sedatives did they dope him up with? Probably enough to help him deal with the embarrassment of all the saliva leaking out of the side of his mouth.

"Noct!!" 

Prompto's exclamation is so loud, he would wince if he had the energy to move. As it is, he remains lying limply while Prompto grasps him by the shoulders and gives him a gentle shake. 

Ignis races to his other side, hands tentatively moving across his cheek before groping their way down to take one of his hands and squeeze it between both of his own. The flood of warmth is immediately comforting, solidifying just how very real this moment is, and Noctis' eyes flutter open stubbornly so he can glance back and forth between the two of them, trying to smile.

"…how long…?" he tries to rasp out, hoping they can fill in all the blanks in his memory.

"A little over a month. Precisely thirty three days," Ignis answers for him, "Unfortunately, that means you missed your birthday." 

Among other things, Noctis imagines. At least, he's up in time for Prompto's birthday, so he doesn't feel too bad. It's not like he'd have been in the mood to celebrate much, especially since twenty-one isn't much of a milestone. He's just grateful he even reached that far, given the last few weeks they had endured outside of Lucian territory.

"Don't worry, Noct! I got pics of it for you! We had a little party here with you." 

Prompto immediately whips out the camera to show him, and Noctis has an incredibly hard time not cringing at all the photos of him looking like he had one foot in the grave already. He hadn't realized he'd gotten that bad or that the burn marks enveloped that much of his skin. It's all a bit taxing to swallow, but he relaxes a bit at the picture of himself in his party hat and everyone posing goofily all around him. He really had missed all three of them even if he can't say he really knew how long they'd been away. It feels like both a minute and an eternity at once.

"Gladio is out aiding the hunters," Ignis informs him as he withdraws his cell phone, "but I will message him to let him know you're awake. I'm sure he will be relieved to hear the news." 

"Yeah, the big guy brought his sister to see you often, and she used to chat with you about her favorite comic series, something about ghost detectives in Altissia. Even played some tunes to try and get you going." 

It's hard to remember if he even registered any music in his dreams. He can't say any particular sound had stuck with him, but he won't put down the effort. 

"When … to leave… ?" Noctis tries next, already itching to get out of here even if his body feels like it had been run over by the Regalia a few times. 

"We can make arrangements to have you transported to Caem. Monica, Iris, and I can assist with your recovery while Prompto and Gladio continue to aid the Marshal." 

Prompto's fingers wrap around his other hand, squeezing over it excitedly. "Yeah, the Marshal said I totally have it in me to be a daemon hunter. Already turning pretty pro in just a month. Wait till you see me out there." 

His whole body aches to laugh, unable to imagine Prompto as a pro hunter, considering how much he screamed when they had confronted the bennu head on for the first time. Just how much had changed since he'd been out? He feels like there's way too much to catch up on, but there should be time enough for that later. Right now, he's fighting a losing battle against the drugs, but he wants to stay awake with them longer. He hadn't realized how much he would have hated losing them if he had stayed in that other place. 

_'…because you love your companions…'_

That's right. The reason his heart would not stop beating. He had to see them all again. 

 

 **004.**

 

It's not easy getting Noctis from the hospital in Lestallum down to Caem especially without an airlift or any form of transportation available. Ignis and Gladio end up haggling with one of the local produce farmers to borrow one of their trucks for a nominal fee, though it's fairly indicative of how strapped they are for funds. Noctis' hospital bill also hadn't been cheap, and Gladio and Prompto had been pulling excess weight in working just to provide for all four of them, which hadn't eased Ignis' guilt one bit. Any insistence on accompanying them on their hunts had been met with fervent disapproval by Gladio who maintained that it'd be more efficient if they weren't looking after him the entire time. Not to mention someone had to stay behind and keep an 'eye' on the prince

It's an indirect way of calling him a burden, but Gladio is right. There's only so much he'd be able to do without his full eyesight, left to simply rely on his other senses that still haven't quite been trained to the task. He also did feel as though Noctis could use a caretaker of sorts during his recovery, though he can't even properly assess his needs at the moment. What he does know is that the prince can barely walk without aid and needed to be carried into the truck where Ignis had been assigned the task of simply holding onto him and not letting him fly out of the back. Without any seat belts, it's a rather nerve-wracking task, and he maneuvers Noctis to sit between his legs while his arms slide around him from behind -a far too intimate position than either of them are comfortable with but also the most strategically sound one.

His chin is left to rest on top of Noctis' hair while the prince reclines against him barely sentient, and Ignis absently inhales the generic shampoo they'd washed him with in between tightening his firm clutch on the prince's body. Noctis hadn't been too pleased receiving a sponge bath from the nurses who had all seemed too eager to remove his gown and scrub him down. Prompto had claimed him to be rather fortunate, though the young prince had only come out of the ordeal crankier than ever. He'll probably need a more proper bath later, but Ignis is only thinking of getting him from point A to point B in one piece while Noctis nods off heavily against his chest, head eventually rolling to hang down on one side.

The medications they had plowed with him had taken their toll on his body, leaving him disoriented and drowsy over the last few days, but they are at least helping him deal with the remnants of pain as his wounds continue to heal. His limbs will regain their strength in time, and he'll be able to move as he once used to, though perhaps not without some permanent injury. The crushing blow the daemon had given him thirteen years ago had left him with a lot of tenderness and soreness down his back and across his legs, which Ignis had often massaged for him when his training had proven too grueling.

He imagines they'd suffered even worse rather recently, and he wishes he could aid him in dealing with the pain better at the moment. All the first aid education still remains comfortably tucked in his memory banks, but it's difficult to properly apply any of it when he can't adequately see what he needs to heal or even gauge Noctis' level of discomfort. It's not as though Noctis would even be honest if he asked him. The prince always brushes off his injuries as though they're nothing then collapses in a heap soon after when his body can no longer bear the strain. 

Re-training himself is going to take a lot of time -obviously-, but the present is when he's needed the most. Sitting idly by and having others do the work for him has never been an easy feat for him, especially since he'd been born and bred to serve the royal family. At no point had he imagined himself being so incapacitated that he would need to be constantly relying upon others instead, especially not at a critical juncture as this. Noctis needs to be nursed back to full health and finally take his rightful place on the throne. They can't afford to keep delaying it with all the political unrest and uncertainty in the wake of Niflheim's fallen empire. No one knows quite who to follow with the oracle gone, the Astrals silent, and only a handful of local leaders mobilizing to keep the small cities afloat with provisions. 

So many economies had suffered with Altissia's collapse under Leviathan's attack and without the exported goods that came from the industrial goliath that Niflheim had once been. Who is going to sustain the world's technological advances from here on out? Where will the new research institutes spring from? They're all standing on the ashes of their modern haven, searching for a way to preserve it all before the wind whisks away what's left. It makes it all the more obvious they never really had a plan for what they'd do if they actually managed to survive the final battle. All their intentions for the future had been built on the backbone of flimsy hopes, but the reality is far crueler and more complex. 

They're a four-man army with a rag doll of a prince at the moment, clinging desperately to his life because, otherwise, they would remain directionless. As long as Noctis continues to live, Ignis believes he still has some purpose. He just has to to restructure his way of thinking and behaving, though how many years had he done that already? He'd molded himself to be what he thought Noctis needed yet could barely lift a finger when Noctis had been at his weakest. All his greatest trials had been undertaken without him there by his side. Even when they faced Ardyn together, he felt like there was far more he could have done, though he also remembers that when Noctis had channeled his powers through him, he was able to 'see' in a sense. The figures moving around him were blue static lines.

He hadn't been able to reproduce that same effect since, though he imagines that the ring must have aided Noctis and their connection. They removed it from him when they left Gralea to prevent it from being stolen while he was in the hospital, and Gladio had been keeping it safe since then. They'll have to return to Noctis when he's recovered so he can show the world proof the Lucii have accepted him as their king as well.

For now, however, he allows Noctis to rest against him, absently noting the way the heat of his flesh rolls off of him in droves, evidence that he's still very much alive in his hands even if he's far from animated. One of the last few times he'd come close to holding him like this had been when Noctis had been severely knocked out during the climb in the Malmalam Thicket. Hit with a confusion spell and dropped from the ground by flying pests had left him rather disoriented, and Ignis had scrambled to cover his body as another fresh wave of oversized bugs tried to swoop in on him. 

Thankfully, Noctis smells infinitely more pleasant now than he did then, though all Ignis could focus on at the time was the savage beat of his own heart, panic welled up in the base of his throat as he moved without thinking, trying to be the shield that Gladio usually makes himself out to be. Even Gladio had looked stunned that he'd beat him to it, though Ignis can't say he'd been thinking at all. Instincts had launched him forward, unwilling to see Noctis brutalized by those creatures any further. That had only been one near-miss out of so many. He's surprised all the hair on his head hadn't turned grey from watching Noctis recklessly barrel into danger time and time again, and yet, his bones have never felt more fragile than how the way hang limply now, reminding him he's still a boy in many ways. Not quite the one he'd been when he first approached him for assistance, tear-eyed and asking him to sew backup one of his broken stuffed toys, but definitely more vulnerable than he ever likes to let on.

He exhales as he absently lifts some of the hair from Noctis' fringe, sweeping them aside to touch his cool forehead. Someone will have to trim up his bangs for him and get him looking presentable soon -perhaps, he can coach Iris into doing it and hope she doesn't get too creative with his hair. 

As if somehow sensing his thoughts, Noctis' shuffles irritably in his arms and brushes his hand away before mumbling something unintelligible. There is still a thin line of drool leaking from his mouth, something Ignis is only keenly aware of because it's spilling into his thin shirt, and he can't quite quell his disgust enough about it. 

"How much longer to Caem?" he calmly asks Gladio, who is helming the truck with Prompto by his side. 

The partition between them is left open for easy conversation as Gladio replies, "Just about an hour away. How's our drooling prince doing?" 

"He could be significantly less damp, but he's relaxed." 

Hopefully, he'll wake up a little more in Caem, well aware that Iris has been dying to see him. The Marshal will also be pleased to know he's recovering well and can better assist them with their eventual journey to Insomnia, though they will have to rid the city of the remaining daemon infestation as well. That won't be an easy battle, and he's hoping he can prepare enough to at least aid with magic and healing if he must. It's just a matter of being able to pinpoint where the enemies are and improving his precision based on sound and instinct, but he doesn't know how much time he'll have at the slow rate he's been advancing so far. 

His arms unconsciously squeeze a bit tighter, letting his chin touch Noctis' shoulder now, and the scent wafting from the prince's neck and cheek are as sterile as the hospital had been, none of the natural scents he's used to inhaling from Noctis normally. It's a staunch reminder that they have a long way to go to get him back up to speed as well, but at least, he survived. That's the one thought Ignis keeps clinging to his mind like a lifeline, unsure when it'll be snipped, but he's grateful to have him here. Even a month without him had felt too quiet and dismal after being so used to hearing the sound of Noctis' soft-spoken voice at every turn. He hadn't realized how much of him and his existence had intrinsically tangled itself with his own and how many times those threads between them had threatened to be unraveled. 

But he also wonders at times if it's duty alone that compels him to follow him or fear or selfishness or something else... it's not the first time he's found himself trying to examine the nature of their relationship, deconstruct it to its rawest components. But all that leaves him with is the realization that they're both no longer the same people they were at the start of his journey. Noctis, for all his childishness and brashness, had stood before gods and fought them as a king, and he himself had ceased being a chamberlain cleaning after his messes. Strategist could have been a more suitable title, but Ignis isn't even sure if that applies to him any longer. He has no real identity for himself at the moment and feels like he's feebly grasping around to find his place in all of this. 

All he knows is that the excuse that he's remaining by his side out of duty had long ago worn thin. It really is unquestionable selfishness from him.

The truck finally grinds to a halt an hour later, leaving them closely tucked next to the house they all had stowed away in before their journey to Altissia. Talcott's voice is the first to burst through the silence, hearing him excitedly run up to the back to greet Noctis who is nobly trying (and failing) to wake himself up again. 

"Give him some time," Gladio tells the boy before reaching out to lift Noctis's body carefully and carry him up into one of the rooms. Iris follows him eagerly, asking all sorts of questions about him and his condition, and all Ignis can do is smile a little to himself. 

There's something about being back in this place that feels a lot like coming home -the familiar sounds of birds chirping, the scent of the tall pine trees all around them, the distant waves crashing into outcrops of rocks by the shoreline. He had, for a long time, believed he'd never be able to return, so it's rather relieving to be standing here again even if he knows he'll never see the horizon from the lighthouse's highest point. At least, he has the memory of it still fresh in his head, an image he cradles tightly to himself as he moves along the familiar path. Prompto's at his side, guiding him along while his cane does the rest, keeping him from tripping on any of the stones on the ground. 

They take some time to settle in and find the largest bed to lay the prince in before Ignis sinks into the chair right by it, still not fond of doing all that much traveling himself when he has no proper sense of direction. It always takes him several days to memorize the entire layout of a building and all the pathways around it, and even then, something as innocuous as a chair being put out of place could throw him off. There's definitely more comfort in remaining immobile, his personal pride not allowing him to stumble feebly around his friends who he already feels like a constant burden. It had felt even worse back when they left Altissia, and the nature of his injury had only compounded on the grievances that Noctis had to deal with after losing his betrothed and watching the city be leveled by a raging goddess. 

Even if Noctis hadn't spoken of Luna once since he'd woken out of his coma, he can tell it still affects him. His whole demeanor had irreparably shifted when they left Altissia, and the boy he'd spent a lifetime looking after had evolved something else -not quite a king, yet, but definitely free of any of the childish naiveté that had clung to him at the start of the journey. It's difficult watching him erode before him from mental and physical injury, but he also knows Noctis is striving hard to rebuild himself into something else. What that is, Ignis can't even begin to predict, but he still wants to remain here as his support and do what he can to guide him through this tentative time. 

The rest of the day is spent listening to Noctis wading in and out of consciousness, constantly mumbling nonsensical phrases beneath his breath before tossing minutely in his bed. Sometimes, he'll clearly whisper his name or Prompto's and Gladio's, and Ignis would think he's calling out for them only to realize he's still fast asleep and unaware of his surroundings. He can't imagine what sort of battles he must be clambering through in his dreams, but he feels mounting worry that he can't pull him out of it. There's nothing more he can do but drift off to the sound of wrestling sheets as they pull around his limbs until Noctis finally gasps awake.

Any other time, he would have fixed him some warm tea to calm him, but he doesn't know where either the tea bags nor the pots are here. Not to mention getting down the stairs in one piece might prove to be risky, but he doesn't want to rouse anyone else to do it for him, so instead, he reaches out and paws around the bed until he can find Noctis' sweat-dampened hair, lightly combing his fingers through it to soothe him. It's a meek gesture, probably insignificant in the wake of the daemons that must be threatening to devour him in his nightmares, but perhaps, that physical connection to the real world is what Noctis really needs to draw him out of his thoughts. 

"Ig... Ignis," he rasps out, and Ignis feels his head shifting under his touch as Noctis sits up and cool hands rest over his own, lightly squeezing over them, "you're still here."

"I don't have many options for travel at the moment." 

It's meant to be a light-hearted reminder, but he can feel Noctis stiffen against his touch before breaking away from their linked hands while he must be presumably fidgeting in place and trying to parse through the remnants of whatever nightmares he'd disentangled himself from just now. He's always had a hard time recovering from rough sleep, and Ignis recalls all the distant nights in their youth where he had sat by Noctis' bed, sharing oversized cosmology books with him and trying to keep him company until he'd fall asleep once more. Only occasionally would he allow himself to brush his fingers lightly through his hair out of comfort, but it always felt a little too intimate a gesture even between friends. Though he tends to regard Noctis like a younger brother to himself, the difference in their rank has never been forgotten. 

"Do you wish to discuss your dream?" 

The bed shifts and creaks noisily as Noctis is presumably straightening up a bit more, and he hears his breaths nearby start to slow down gradually. 

"Not really. I don't remember them that well after I wake up anyway." 

Perhaps, for the better. If he were to carry those haunting visions throughout the day, it would prove to be too daunting. Ignis himself has a hard time forgetting any part of his dreams, especially when it's the only place he can actually 'see.' And they always replay for him the last time he'd seen the light in Altissia -the distant sun behind greying clouds. He'd woken up shaking and sweating himself just as copiously and had resolved to keep his own sleeping to a minimum to avoid reliving that moment. It's easier to push all his focus onto Noctis, especially now that he's awake. 

The silence settles over them once more as Noctis idly brushes his thumb across his knuckles repeatedly, a gesture that shouldn't be as disruptive as it is, but Ignis can't focus on anything else but the simple whisper of touch moving over the surface of his flesh until Noctis finally speaks once more. 

"I need a bath. An actual bath and not being scrubbed down by a room full of nurses." 

Those words draw an amused snort from Ignis, recalling how much he fidgeted and tried to disentangle himself from all the pawing limbs. He'd never been a fan of being pampered to that degree and could barely even tolerate a massage for longer than a few minutes, though he suspected the latter had to do with the injuries he'd incurred as a child. 

"You did make many of those young ladies happy that day. They seemed rather enthused to assist." 

"Don't remind me. I could have done it a lot quicker myself." 

Which is what Ignis presumes he plans on doing now except his legs and arms are still weakened from disuse and injury. He doesn't expect Noctis to take any of that into account however, and is already moving to what he believes is Noctis' front side to swoop in and help him out of the bed as his entire weight ends up roughly splattered across his arms. He's certainly lighter than he remembers, something he notes with grave displeasure because that means he's barely been eating. Again, it's a problem he could have easily rectified if he could see, but as it is, he'll have to rely on Monica to make sure she prepares some of his favorite dishes for him to put more protein back on his bones.

He is grateful for the reduced weight at the moment as he tries to drag Noctis from the bed and hold him while not being able to exactly see what parts of him he's holding. He assumes his arms are around his midsection and Noctis' legs are scrunched somewhere under his body while the prince clings tight to the back of his shirt, cursing as he starts to slip. 

"Ugh! -just let me fall. I can crawl there if I have to." 

"Don't be reckless. The bathroom is only a few feet away." 

"Yeah, but you nearly hit ...uh ... never mind." 

Nearly hit what? ... _Oh._ He immediately feels guilty but not enough to abandon the task as he rearranges Noctis' body. This time one of his arms slides along his upper back, and the other moves below his knees, carrying him as he would a bride -not that he intends on highlighting that comparison out loud. This moment is embarrassing enough for the the both of them as it is.

"Are you steady?" Ignis asks nevertheless, squeezing his arms around the prince's body.

"Just hurry before anyone sees us. I'll tell you where to go." 

With Noctis verbally guiding him, they both manage to make it to the bathroom in one piece with the only other hiccup being the slightly elevated entrance way to the bathroom. To his own credit, he masterfully keeps his grip on the prince in spite of the rough series of stumbles and Noctis' colorful language. When he finally sets him in the tub, he hears Noctis shuffling around and cursing once more under his breath.

"What is it?" he asks, wondering if he committed an error anywhere. 

There's a long beat of silence before Noctis finally replies, "...nothing." 

The way he says it means there's definitely something wrong, and Ignis tries to retrace his steps before it occurs to him that he hadn't bothered to help him undress before putting him in the tub. They'd lent him some of Prompto's clothes before leaving the hospital since Noctis' hadn't been salvageable, and he'd been sleeping in them this entire time. 

"Do you need assistance undressing?" 

"I can do it," Noctis answers startlingly quick, though he can hear him shuffling piteously in the tub as he tries to struggle with the buttons on Prompto's jacket.

With a resigned sigh, Ignis ignores the protest before letting his fingers guide him. He'd had enough experience getting in out and out of his own clothes by now that he's already mastered the art of unbuttoning clothes in a short while. It's a bit of a struggle pulling the sleeves loose, but the shirt underneath is easier to pluck free from Noctis' head.

The difficult part is getting him out of his pants and underwear, hands groping around to try and find the top button to them while Noctis lurches back from his touch. He hears a sharp thud and tenses up, already fearing he committed another grave error.

"Shit _ow_ -!" 

"What is it, Noct?" Ignis asks quickly, removing his hands because he's not sure where to put them or what to do. He just knows Noctis is in some sort of distress. 

"It's nothing." 

"I wish you would stop taking advantage of the fact that I can't see you to keep lying." 

That seems to strike a cord within Noctis because he actually murmurs a sincere apology instead of saying something cheeky in response like he normally would. 

"Sorry ...just hit my head. No blood, so it's not a big deal. Now, how about I unbutton and unzip my own pants, and you just pull outwards?" 

Ignis can already imagine what he did earlier to make him hit his head in response, and he quickly makes a mental note where his pelvis is in relation to his own position so he doesn't unwittingly make him uncomfortable a second time. Noctis has always been rather shy and hesitant about being undressed in front of others, even more so after the Marilith's attack, and he'd rather not exacerbate his injuries by making him uncomfortable at the moment. He does end up following directions as he eases off Noctis' pants and underwear, setting them somewhere on the ground. He'll need to get fresh new clothes for him later, though he's sure Prompto wouldn't mind lending him more. He's amassed quite a wardrobe in just a month since their return from Gralea. 

With that taken care of, he turns the water on for him, fingers resting under the tap until he gets the perfect temperature before allowing the tub to fill with him inside. He can't see if Noctis is scrunched up on the other side, but a part of him is worried that he'll fall asleep and drown himself without supervision. Wouldn't that be quite a headline? The 114th King of the Lucis Caelum line deceased due to drowning in a bath tub after nearly all his ancestors had nobly died in battle. 

"You're smirking," Noctis idly comments, and he can hear him moving a bit more clearly as water fills the tub, "I can't be that funny-looking right now." 

There's a reminder on the tip of his tongue that he has no idea how silly Noctis looks, but he lets the comment slide, not really in the mood to keep pointing it out. Instead, he shakes his head lightly and tries to make himself comfortable next to the tub. "I was only considering the political repercussions of you surviving all this long just to be taken out by a bath tub."

Noctis snorts at those words, and he hears the prince's arms moving about, possibly trying to grab the soap and scrub it all over himself. "I'm not that drowsy anymore. You dragging me all the way over here kind of scared the rest of the exhaustion away. I thought you'd drop me head-first onto the ground." 

"I would never." 

Even without his vision, he wouldn't allow himself to cripple the prince even further, having maintained that his grip on him the entire time had been firm and steadfast. "I can detect things more clearly than you think." 

"Is that why you almost elbowed me between the legs twice?" 

At least, Noctis doesn't sound that upset about it as his voice peters out into quiet chuckles, and to his own surprise, Ignis joins him, feeling a bit of the somber mood from earlier start to dissipate between them. They'd walked in here with heavy clouds hovering over them, so it is a bit nice to know they can tread some familiar territory with one another if only for a while.

"We're both really a piece of work at the moment. How did anyone expect us to save the world?" 

A small good-natured splash is aimed at his face as he hears Noctis move around in the tub once more. "Speak for yourself. I knew I had it all in the bag." 

"At what point? I recall you complaining the whole while up the Malmalam thicket that your boots were getting all muddy." 

"Says the guy who threw a fit because a chocobo stole his glasses." 

This time, it's Ignis' turn to splash water at his face -or in the general direction of it- before the both of them let their mutual rumbles of laughter fill the small space. It's the most comfort he's had since he lost his eyesight, unable to remember a single moment since then where his joints had unclenched enough for him to relax. He'd been a vessel of pent-up tension even long before they had reached Altissia, though they had their little moments. They still have that wonderful picture of the four of them at Hammerhead with the Regalia pinned up in Noctis' temporary lodgings here along with the other photos Prompto had printed out and put up everywhere. Even if Ignis can't see them, he likes to run his fingers over the edges and try to guess which of the many impromptu photo ops he's staring at. Anything is better than just simply accepting he won't ever be able to see those moments outside of his memories now. 

Once the quiet returns, Ignis is left to hear his own gentle exhaling breath in tune with the rhythm of Noctis scrubbing soap over his skin and the water dancing around his limbs. How he's managing is something he can't really tell, but he doesn't seem to be letting out any signs of discomfort. Rather, he seems almost at peace, and when it gets too silent, Ignis has to check up on him by reaching out for his shoulder to gently shake it.

"What is it?" Noctis asks.

"Just making sure you're still awake." 

"I already said I'm too wound up to sleep anymore. You don't have to sit here the whole time, either. Must be kind of weird watching me take a bath." 

Ignis taps his glasses, silently reminding him he can't actually 'watch' anything, so Noctis has no reason to be embarrassed in the slightest. Even if he could, he would give him his privacy.

"Oh yeah...," Noctis remarks sheepishly, and he can hear his voice grow a little quiet in the end before he swallows audibly, "I do need to get out at some point, though. Already turning into a prune." 

Which he recognizes is one of Noctis' least favorite fruits. The horror. Ignis gives him a firm nod before wedging his arms under his armpits and hoisting him to stand. His damp skin instantly bleeds through the fabric of his clothes everywhere as he holds him followed by a harsh flood of warmth that feels more pleasant than he'd currently like to admit to himself. The hot water had left Noctis feeling like a human-sized heating pad, but he keeps his focus on trying to pull him out while Noctis twists to clutch his shoulders and cling to him. 

It's difficult to ignore the intimacy of the situation when just seconds ago, even touching his hair had felt particularly invasive, and now he's embracing the prince with very few boundaries between them, though his mind impresses upon the fact that there's nothing inherently sexual about it nor should there be. He's never looked at Noctis that way before, especially given how closely they were raised together, though his body has its own autonomic responses to touch, ones he can't control -ones that operate far beyond reason and circumstance, and they leave his pulse a mess as he steadily guides the prince towards the bedroom. 

"You're squeezing me too hard- let go!" Noctis wheezes, and he can feel him suddenly wriggling around like an angry coeurl in his grip.

"Apologies, just let me get a steady grip on-" 

The sentiment is noble, but the actual reality leaves Noctis falling painfully on his knees onto the bath mat while Ignis struggles to keep his own footing and not crush him. This would have been so much easier if he could see where he's going and what part of Noctis he's grabbing onto, though he'd sure he has a firm grip on his upper arm right now at least. He clutches onto it and holds his other hand out for Noctis, urging him to take it.

"Can I try and put some clothes on, first? Not exactly fun to trip around while naked." 

Ignis is about to answer when a set of footsteps emerge from down the hall. At least, his hearing has been improving exponentially, which buys him enough time to try and close the door to give the prince privacy -keyword being try. He succeeds in knocking the edge of the door against Noctis' head harder than he would have liked while a concerned Iris comes bolting down the hall.

"What are you two do-??" she starts to ask before gasping loudly -she's probably just now seen his state of undress, and Noctis is groaning on the ground and possibly trying to crawl underneath it somehow. 

"There's no need for you to worry, Iris, I have the situation under control." 

"I didn't see anything, I promise!" 

His own head hangs slightly, the guilt prickling strongly into the back of his neck. He really should have asked for assistance. The situation worsens when all the shouting draws more footsteps -recognizably Gladio's and Prompto's following shortly behind. 

"Well, if this isn't the perfect photo op," Gladio comments dryly.

Prompto nears them with a towel to try and at least preserve what's left of Noctis' modesty, and he imagines he might already have his camera at the ready.

"Don't even think about it," the prince hisses, "I'll break your camera." 

"Duly noted," Prompto replies with all the speed of a man fearing his own imminent doom. 

With Gladio's help, they manage to not only get Noctis in some clothes but haul him back to bed where he's propped up on his pillows and wearing a miserable expression -according to Prompto, at least. Ignis imagines the humiliation hasn't quite dissipated, and he himself feels more than a little terrible about having caused such a commotion. Perhaps, it would be more prudent to allow Monica to handle all the nursing and physical therapy as well, considering she has extensive training in it, though he can't imagine Noctis would be any more comfortable having her help him into the bath than he is him. At least, he and Noctis are both men. 

Ignis finds his way to his spot by his bed, feeling the last of the sun's rays brush over his cheeks as it starts to sink away for the night. It's rather soothing but not as comforting as the faint sound of Noctis' breathing. The pain medication had knocked him out once more, leaving Ignis alone again to his thoughts, though he'd much rather distract himself with taking care of Noctis. 

Isn't that how it's always been? Prioritizing him meant never having to stop and think about his own fears and regerts, but now he's left still dealing with the obvious truth that there is little more he can do right now as an adviser. He needs to seriously pick up his training and work harder if he intends to resume his former role. Either that or consider a new role entirely, but he doesn't know what he would do were he not serving the future king. He's never had the opportunity to really imagine himself in an alternative career when his responsibility to look after the prince had been reinforced practically everyday since Noctis had been born. 

Outside of it, what would he even desire for himself? He never imagined himself having a small nuclear family -marrying, fathering children, living outside the Citadel. His whole trajectory had been lined up with Noctis' since the very start except now those parallel lines have become askew and are starting to intersect in complicated ways where he's struggling to justify being here any longer. But he knows that Noctis has never been just his prince, and perhaps, it's their friendship that he clings to more than his duty. The niggling fear of being alone rasps along the back of his thoughts, and even if he is a liability to him, he's scared to let go. 

His hand reaches out to find Noctis' on the bed, touching it again, letting his fingertips crawl underneath so he can brush them over Noctis' palms and push into the unbidden heat there, chasing after the reassurance that there's something more to keep him fighting onward. That Noctis and the others might still need him in a different capacity. Even if it's just moral support, he doesn't want to leave the three of them. 

 

**005.**

 

A week since their arrival at Cape Caem, and Noctis had upgraded to using a wheel chair to get around which had with it its share of unpleasant memories. Every so often, he'd keep finding himself back in Tenebrae, inhaling sylleblossoms while watching Luna's smiling face come running towards him. Her form always dissolves into petals before she can get too close, the ongoing reminder that she's dead, and he's currently ambling towards something close to living. According to Gladio, her corpse had been recovered in Gralea along with his father's and one of the members of his Kingsglaive. Cor had seen to it that both the king and Nyx Ulric were preserved and taken to Insomnia to be buried with the help of the remaining Kingsglaive member. They had cleared out enough daemons to let them rest beneath the Citadel. Luna's body had been handed over to Tenebrae for a proper burial near the gardens she frequented as a child. There are already plans to build an entire underground mausoleum in her honor, and many still gather at her grave site to mourn and offer prayers to her, revering her as something of a saintly figure. 

Noctis wishes so badly he could have been there to bury both his father and his betrothed himself, and now, has it in his mind that he'll at least visit their burials once he's better. However, he can't help feeling guilty that he had done so little for either of them in the end. He still wears the weight of their blood on his hands each day, and though he feels like he's trying to smile around shards of glass, his other option is to surrender to despair once more. He doubts Gladio would forgive him if he did, but everything that happened still weighs heavily across his chest, making it hard to keep breathing. He wants to wake up fresh-faced and excited, eager to go on the road trip that should have been the most exhilarating part of his life. Will he ever reclaim that feeling again? 

It's hard to imagine he's that same eager boy from so long ago, but he's at least working towards getting his old strength back. His bedroom had been moved to the bottom floor to avoid having to be carried up and down the stairs, and Ignis continues to take the bed by his side, though he knows the other man barely sleeps at night. He watches him solemnly sitting by the window at night or listening to some books and podcasts from his phone. His face often looks sallow and sickly, but Noctis doesn't comment on it, unsure what to say. It's Noctis' fault he's even like this to begin with even if he didn't cause it directly. He still feels like he had some hand it in and can't really undo it like any other status effect. 

The worst part had been realizing just how much Ignis had taken care for him when he'd been able to see. Pressing his shirts, mending his clothes, taking care of his wounds, cooking for him, supplying provisions, taking care of the accounts, aiding them with his battle strategy, assessing the weaknesses of their enemies... he'd been an integral part of the group from the beginning. Noctis had definitely taken it all for granted for years without even realizing how much of a headache he'd been to make Ignis watch over him that much. Not once did he look after him in return, and even now, when he's struggling his hardest, Noctis feels absolutely impotent in trying to help. There are no words that will bring his vision back or even soften the blow of having lost it to begin with. 

That thought weighs just as heavily on his mind as any other as he watches Ignis finally move from his chair once the first rays of light start to filter through the window. His gloved hands grope around the curtain before finding the cord to open them, and even though Noctis hasn't said a word at all, somehow Ignis knows he's awake already.

"It's not like you to be up so early," he absently comments.

Noctis shrugs before remembering Ignis can't see the gesture and ends up clearing his throat a little awkwardly, "Just thinking." 

"Would you like some breakfast?" 

Those words make him pause, unsure if Ignis is capable of that much, yet. He hasn't seen him cook since before they arrived in Altissia, but perhaps, he'd already trained himself how to make basic things like toast. He doesn't want to belittle him by refusing and is more than a little curious to see what he can make.

"Sure," he finally says before maneuvering his body onto the wheelchair by his bed. He'd gotten better at using his upper arm strength to carry himself when he has to, a little pleased that he might actually end up with some Gladio-level ripped biceps at this rate. Or he can hope. It never hurts to hope.

Once settled in, he follows Ignis into the kitchen, noting the fact that the older man doesn't even need the cane to get around this place anymore. He's already memorized the layout pretty well and can even find his way to the kitchen with minimal difficulty as he opens the fridge. His hands withdraw the egg carton and butter before he finds the proper pan in one of the drawers beneath the oven. The whole process is like watching a careful, methodical trapeze artist and feeling a gut-clenching sensation emerge from his center every time he nearly drops something. To his surprise, Ignis manages without a single error until it comes time to actually cook. He can expertly crack an egg one-handed on the edge of the pan, but he immediately stabs right into the yolk with the spatula and makes a frustrated noise at the smell of it oozing out. 

"I'm good with scrambled eggs," Noctis offers, though he can tell Ignis is already mentally berating himself for the simple mistake. 

"We have no choice. There are only so many eggs." 

Tension laces itself through Ignis' neck and shoulders as he walks back to the fridge to try and find some milk to give the eggs the fluffy texture he usually enjoys, though Noctis can tell from his vantage point that the heat is too high and that the eggs are on their way to being inedible. He immediately races forward to lower the heat for Ignis but not without causing Ignis to crash into him and drop the milk on his lap. Predictably, it ends up drizzled all over him, and Ignis heaves out a dissatisfied noise before searching for where the paper towels are. 

"It's fine, Ignis. If Niflheim didn't kill me, then I'm sure milk won't." 

"I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I'd still rather have your breakfast end up in you rather than _on_ you." 

So would Noctis, but it's not as though Ignis has to keep doing this for him in his state. He knows Ignis _wants_ to, but he also doesn't need to drive himself crazy. 

"How about just toast for the both of us? Not that hungry anyway." 

He knows it's not the most satisfactory solution in the world, but it's better than watching Ignis continue to struggle around the kitchen. Noctis even volunteers to prepare the toast for them and take control of the butter knife before that also ends up somewhere unpleasantly near his lap. No need to take that many risks in one day. 

"I know I always used to give you a hard time before about helping you cook, but... if you ever need it," his own voice sounds quiet, trying to phrase it a way that won't completely step on Ignis' pride at the moment. He knows it's a bit hard for him to contend with all of this, that he's still trying to accept it even if he doesn't always show that it bothers him. Noctis has been around him long enough to know how uncomfortable Ignis is with not being the one who others should be depending on, but considering how many opportunities he had missed to really be there for him, Noctis does want to make it up to him. When Ignis needed him the most, he'd been trapped in his own headspace, but at least, Gladio and Prompto had given him some moral support in his place.

Even so, it shouldn't be that way -not for someone who's always stuck by his side. Who could have easily walked away to take care of himself. Who had no business pushing himself as hard as he did to come with them to Gralea. There's a lot Noctis is starting to clue in on now that his mind is crawling out of the fog that had encased it when Luna had died. 

Ignis' mouth parts for a moment like he wants to say something in return before shutting. Noctis imagines he must also be conceding to himself that this is the only solution at the moment. Hobbling along on his own is just going to wind up with them trapped in a bad kitchen fire.

"Very well. Next time, you can assist me." 

Those words make Noctis smile slightly, head nodding before he wheels himself away to try and address the mess on his lap. At least, he's gotten more adept at getting in and out of the bath on his own as well, not wanting an embarrassing repeat of his first night here. That's not something he'll be able to live down for a while, though the past few days had felt almost deceptively peaceful. There's still tension that runs through his body every time he thinks he might be enjoying the atmosphere too much, just constantly waiting for what will shatter it next. After being on the run from daemons and Niflheim soldiers for so long, he simply can't believe that it's really all come to an end, though the threat of daemons still lingers. The scourge isn't entirely gone and has to be contained, but there's no longer a surplus of it clouding the skies and covering the world in darkness like Ardyn had hoped. 

As long as daemons aren't being mass-produced at an alarming rate, they can contend with what's to come -or at least, he'd like to believe. He still has to take his rightful position on the Lucian throne. _He still has to go home_ , both things he's been admittedly stalling on, unsure exactly what he'll do as king with his kingdom in shambles. What if no one even wants to follow him? Prophecy or not, had he really proven himself back in Gralea? It seemed like it had only been a fluke that he even defeated Ardyn when he'd clearly been destined for a different path from the very beginning. 

What will he do now that he's broken away from the fate intended for him by the Six? It's plagued him constantly, and he's found himself trying to covering up the anxious threads tugging at his mind with quieter moments like this. It's easier hanging around casually with his friends and pretending they hadn't waged an epic war for the world just over a month ago, and pretty soon, they'll be celebrating Prompto's birthday like it's any other. 

Time has a strange way of twisting around them imperceptibly and only making its presence known when death is about to lurch up, grab their ankles, and drag them far underground. How much time he has is something he keeps fearing, especially when the gods had given him the distinct impression that it was supposed to be very little. Did he really buy himself a second chance? 

The thought continues to clamber its way around his mind as he goes about his normal activities, most of which are spent on training and physical therapy with Gladio and Monica. It isn't long before he's able to upgrade to walk unsteadily with a cane, though he feels like an old man already when Gladio clamps around the same leg brace his father used. Hopefully, he won't be permanently hobbling around, though his body had been ripped to shreds by the crystal. It's amazing he even looks human at the moment. He should be so lucky that a minor limp is all he'll have to worry about after that ordeal. 

Ignis also continues to try and improve with his daggers, learning to track objects by sound alone. It's impressive how quickly his instincts recover by the day, evolving to be quicker and more precise until Noctis sees shades of his former grace returning. He's always been the most agile and limber out of all of them, something he can attribute to his lean build, and even Noctis used to have trouble matching him in speed when he wasn't warp striking. A few of Ignis' old acrobatic maneuvers also start to return, learning how to catch himself on the ground without even seeing, though he still stumbles and scrapes his palms through his gloves on occasion. 

In the mornings, it's become a regular routine to help him cook even if waking up is still a feat for Noctis. He at least has more incentive to push himself out of bed, wanting to help Ignis reach his old level of culinary expertise. His recipes continue to escalate in difficulty, and the latest one he chooses is no easy feat as Ignis tells him he wants to make a mushroom garula sausage omelette.

"I know without looking at you, you're already making a face at the word 'mushroom,' Noct," Ignis says while feeling around the fridge for the ingredients.

It's true. He _is_ making a face, but Ignis doesn't need to know that. 

"Could try replacing it with cheese..." 

"There will already be cheese, but cheese and sausage alone is not an adequate nutrition for healing your bones. Or would you rather continue walking around with a cane at the ripe old age of twenty-one." 

Noctis bites his tongue to keep from pointing out that Ignis also walks around with a cane, not wanting to bring up a sore point. Even so, Ignis has more or less reduced his dependency on it and has started getting by more easily just through sheer memory. It's a lot more progress than anyone else would have made in his position, so he does quietly admire his tenacity -maybe even finds himself wishing to match it with his own. 

"I'll just end up picking them off anyway." 

An exasperated sigh flees between Ignis' lips as if he expected any differently, but he doesn't push the matter. Instead, he locates a rather large knife that makes Noctis a little nervous as he positions it over one of the mushrooms. It's already more than Noctis can bear while watching him, intercepting the handle of it before he can slide it in downwards arc. 

Ignis gives him a questioning look, but Noctis doesn't relent, keeping the kitchen knife hostage. 

"I am sure I can handle chopping blind better than you can with perfect vision." 

Probably true, but Noctis doesn't want to take any chances.

"Do you really want to be a nine-fingered chef? Let me at least do this for you." 

"I'll never learn if you don't allow me to practice," Ignis shoots back, and he actually looks more than a bit annoyed at him with the way his eyebrows pinch inwards as his pale-eyed stare pins him in place. Even though Noctis knows he doesn't see him at all, he still can't help feeling stripped down by his gaze -as if Ignis doesn't even have to see him at all to know what he's thinking. It's a little unnerving, but he doesn't back down either, instead hobbling to stand behind Ignis while he puts his hands on both of his from behind. 

Since Ignis is taller than him, it's difficult to edge his sight over his shoulder, having to plaster himself flush against his back to try and see while he awkwardly guides Ignis' hand. He can feel his friend stiffening tightly against him, his body too rigid and non-pliant while Noctis tries to reposition both their hands.

"I don't see how this is any better," Ignis comments, sounding like he's trying not to breathe at the moment.

Noctis ducks his head a bit awkwardly, chin brushing against one of Ignis' shoulder blades as he tries not to back down like he wants to. This kind of close proximity is something he should be getting used to considering how many times he's hand to be wrangled and carried since he'd woken up, but it still feels a little weird to be pressed up so close to Ignis that he can smell the perpetual aroma of spices that always clings stubbornly to his body no matter how many showers he's taken nor how many battles he's fought. It's a nostalgic scent, able to trace it back to this childhood when he first noticed that Ignis's hands usually smelled thickly of vanilla or cinnamon, sometimes a more exotic curry spice or cumin. Today, he smells like pepper and butter, and it makes his stomach rumble with anticipation as he unconsciously inhales inwards before belatedly remembering he should probably say something in response about now. 

"...this way you can practice, and I can stop you from losing a finger. It's just until you get the hang of it, okay?" 

Not a smooth save at all, the words tumbling out haphazardly before he can stop them, and he has to concentrate hard not to get distracted by the warm press of muscles to his own front side and the overwhelmingly pleasant scent, his lungs expanding more than usual as he inhales again. It makes his head spin a little, dizzy with the flurry of heat crawling through his chest and stomach as he starts to help Ignis chop from behind, keeping one hand steady on the mushrooms while the other pushes downwards with the knife. The fear of nicking Ignis' finger himself produces a harsh adrenaline-spike that leaves his heart pounding furiously across his rib cage, making it a struggle to focus.

When his hand brushes Ignis' over towards a new mushroom, he hears his friend speak in a quiet almost careful tone. 

"Your hands are shaking, Noct." 

Are they? He'd barely even noticed, too busy trying to concentrate on just breathing against him to pay much attention to anything else. If he does, he's worried he might be start finding the way their bodies are lined up together to be disruptive and chaotic to everything he thought he had long ago accepted about himself. This feeling is ...new. It's definitely confusing. He can't quite articulate it mentally, but there's a sense of wrong-ness about it that makes him want to flee because the last time he'd felt this way had been when Ignis had lost his glasses to the chocobo that day while in camping. It had been the first time in a long time he'd looked at him with unfiltered eyes, nothing in the way of the bright green-blue color that seemed to devour his attention mercilessly, and Noctis recalled the first inkling of sweat and heat that crept between his thighs, the tell-tale press of swelling warmth even higher along the pit of his stomach. If not for being interrupted by the chocobo that day, he may have convinced himself that it was something more than just a fluke, but that's starting to become a bit of a naive excuse at this point. 

"Sorry," he ends up murmuring in apology, his voice lower than Ignis' and lost in the sounds of their partnered chopping.

Together, they manage to cut through a few mushrooms before Noctis has to peel himself away and press his back to the oven, swallowing a bit of air. Ignis' face turns to look at him, trying to scrutinize him when he can't see him and analyze the sounds he's making as if that could hold some kind of clue as to whatever is breaching through Noctis' mind at the moment. Fortunately, he doesn't ask him verbally and continues to grab ingredients, setting them next to the pan. By now, he's memorized every stove setting and how far to turn the dials before greasing up the pan and letting two sausages simmer.

"Are you going to continue to supervise me?" he asks as he idly flips one of the sausages over.

It does give him some peace of mind, and it's not as though Noctis has anything better to do at the moment. His scheduled physical therapy isn't for another half an hour, and Prompto and Gladio left hunting with Cor hours ago. His other option is being dragged around by Iris on a nature hike, but he can do without the bugs biting at his skin and Iris constantly fretting over him every other step. While he appreciates the worry, he isn't that fragile. 

"Someone's got to make sure you don't burn down the house," he says at last.  

"Once again, we have a greater risk of that with you at the helm. You can at least make yourself be of some use by setting up the table. I can handle things here." 

His wariness doesn't dissolve even at those words, continuing to watch Ignis carefully as he reluctantly sets the table for him. It's obvious he's trying hard to be self-sufficient and work as he used to, but that stubbornness might get him into trouble. Ironically, words Ignis had probably told him plenty of times before. The first person always impulsively throwing himself into battle is himself, and it's not lost on him the current reversal of their roles. As much as he wants to believe that things might return as they used to, a part of him doesn't want to devolve back into that arrangement. He'll be king soon, and there's some truth to all those times Ignis had told him -he can't always depend on others to clean up his messes for him. 

That assertion had come to fruition the most in Gralea, knowing he had no choice but to stand up to Ardyn and accept his responsibility of destroying the starscourge even at the risk of his life. In any other timeline, he'd have been killed, yet here he stands, still a miracle with death riding his shoulders. Not a day goes by where he doesn't think he should have fallen, but it stands to reason that he didn't. Against all odds, he's still alive, and he must carry on forward with the life he'd been unceremoniously granted and become king. That means protecting his people -that means being the one that Ignis and the others will finally come to depend on to lead and guide them. 

His eyes trail over Ignis' figure once more, feeling the resurgent sorrow that he already failed him once before. He should have never lost his eyesight to begin with, and now, he's left wearing war wounds that don't belong to him, permanently etched on his most prominent feature. It's difficult not to let guilt weigh him down each day and even more difficult to tell Ignis he's sorry even several months after the fact. No apology will ever be worth enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**006.**

 

Noctis spends nearly two full months recovering his strength and getting in enough shape to walk around once more without aid, a fact that brings Ignis pride as he's never seen the prince work so hard. With his coronation ceremony looming, he'd have thought Noctis would have stalled and put it it off as much as possible to avoid traveling back to the wreckage that is Insomnia. Contrarily, Noctis had been rather determined to get better, ignited to the point of pushing himself past his limits constantly and learning to walk as he used to. According to Monica, he still has a bit of a limp, but it's nowhere near as pronounced as Regis' was and will improve over time. He's also gotten better at fighting once more and moving with increasing grace and intensity under the Marshal and Gladio's training. In a few more months, he'll be back to his most powerful state, though it hasn't escaped him that he hasn't put the ring back on. It's likely with the amount of crystal light he'd absorbed into the ring, he'll start aging quickly much like his father and deteriorate at a similar rate, but at least, his life hadn't been cut abruptly short at twenty. 

If he had to bury him back then at Gralea, he isn't sure how he would have coped with the aftermath. He knows he would have continued dragging himself along, but there would be little else motivating him except for the instinct to survive and help others survive. Aside from that, Noctis is family to him -perhaps even closer, if he's honest with himself, though he doesn't know what role exists between family and lovers. It'd be easier if he could keep dismissing his feelings as either fraternal or even those born of unconscious physical desire, but he feels both of those and none of those at once. It's been a long time since he's properly assessed the nature of their bond. 

Fortunately, it's an assessment that will have to wait, his thoughts quickly interrupted as he hears the prince from close by as he boards the truck with Iris, Monica, and Talcott taking a separate car behind them. Gladio's already in the truck's driver's seat urging them to move while Prompto's thumping at a spot for Noctis to sit. They have the uniforms they had taken when they first set out all ready and packed for their return, and it all feels so sudden that there isn't time to really absorb the significance of their journey. 

_They're finally going home._

It hasn't even dawned on Ignis yet, and even though he's dreamed of returning to Insomnia so many times before, he's always known their return would be tinged with sadness. All his family members had died protecting the king and had fallen alongside Gladio's father and the rest of the Crownsguard. He hadn't even been there to bury them and knows whatever is left of them now is probably not enough to properly inter them. All he can do is offer parting words and prayers, hope that their souls are at rest as he slides into the back next to Noctis.

The ride is long and bumpy going all the way from Caem to Lucis, and he feels Noctis nod off right next to him, head heavy on his shoulder while his hair tickles the inside of his neck. Hopefully, they can find a barber to properly cut it for him, knowing even without looking that its turned into a long and raggedy mess. All that recovery hadn't lent itself to any proper grooming time, and Ignis fears what his own hair must look like with his futile attempts at upkeep. Simply feeling around to put it in place with gel require a lot of guesswork, but he can usually gauge his success by how much Prompto laughs at him in the mornings. If he says nothing of note, then he knows his hair is at least decent. 

The atmosphere as they drive to Insomnia proves to be rather tense, the four of them sitting in ominous silence as they imagine what it must look like. They've seen the wreckage from afar and have glanced at photos in the news reports, but it's not the same as actually walking through the place that once served as a battlefield. Various accounts state that the old wall had been summoned which also lead to much of the ruin in the ensuing attack between the Lucii and the large daemons the empire had dropped on the main city. For once, Ignis is rather grateful he hadn't been there to see it. He isn't sure how well he could handle watching his home fall to ash, knowing no other place could ever feel the same. Even in all his travels, there had been nothing quite like Insomia where his fondest childhood memories had been cradled -the prince's as well. 

This is where they grew up, though arguably, they hadn't truly become men until they stepped outside of the city limits. That's truest for Noctis, who had matured a lot since the day they left when he'd been rolling his eyes and brushing off his father's kind and emotional words. Now, he's truly walked along the thin line between life and death and has seen indescribable horrors. The fact that he'll never return to those joyous days of running straight into his father's waiting arms as he arrives at the Citadel must haunt him. Even Ignis had thought the man to be a second father to himself, and much of the royal council had been like mentors and extended relatives.

Will they find their corpses strewn about in the wreckage now? It's a difficult thought to stomach, but he tries to focus on the fact that there still might be daemons wandering around first. They'll have to extinguish the remainder then settle properly within the city. The crystal is no longer present to restore the wall unless Noctis can manifest it from within, but the toll on his body might be too great. He may have recovered significantly, but he's still in no condition to form an entire barrier around Insomnia. They'll have to set up alternative means of protection and patrol before they import new citizens and the refugees who had escaped the attack. They would also need to increase their numbers -again, a significant challenge considering how few of the Crownsguard and Kingsglaive remain alive. Then Noctis would have to learn to cycle his magic through more than just the three of them.

The burden of those responsibilities shouldn't lie within him alone, and Ignis doubts that the prince has even thought that far in advance. His mind is far too preoccupied with the present, living in the 'now' that unfolds in this car as Prompto points out landmarks they had passed through on their initial journey and speaks up every time they drive by a wild chocobo or some other creature roaming the wilds. The shutter-click sound of his camera feels comforting, finding himself easily distracted and lured into a false sense of complacency. 

They stop mid-journey at a hunter's site in what feels like the most humid corner of southern Duscae. While Monica and Cor choose to stay there with Iris and Talcott, the rest of them venture by foot towards one of their old camp sites, wanting a bit of alone time they may not have ever again once they reach Insomnia. The ground smells freshly of rain, the scent coiling pleasantly beneath Ignis' nostrils as feet crunch along the grass. What little breeze there is proves to be far too insignificant to ruffle even a single strand of hair loose from his head, and he's mostly treated to the oppressive and stagnant air closing in on him like a wall as he follows his comrades. There's a cane in hand to spot out any stray rocks or foreign objects, idly tapping it against the ground, though the terrain is so uneven, he can't help but stumble from time to time. 

Occasionally, Prompto's hand reaches out to steady him firmly, and he images an expression of concern blooming over the blond's features as he hovers nearby. Time becomes irrelevant when one can't see the sun moving alongside the sky, and he only realizes it's about to set when a tell-tale chill sinks down the back of his neck and into his shirt, making him suppress a shiver. Prompto's stomach growls faintly in response while the familiar plod of Noctis' boots grind to a halt. 

"I feel the same way," he murmurs, and Ignis assumes the prince must have poked or prodded Prompto because he hears the blond stagger next to him and the quiet slap of flesh upon flesh. 

"Gladio's stomach was way louder." 

"Was not," Gladio interjects from somewhere further ahead, "Ignis can verify. He's got the best ears out of all of us." 

"I only heard Prompto's stomach." 

"Aw, come on, Ignis! Why you gotta betray me like that?" 

Peals of laughter fall out of the others while Ignis can't help feel his lips curve in amusement. It would be easy to fool himself that nothing at all has changed, but the heavy undercurrent of tension bristling between all four is still fresh enough that he doesn't feel completely at ease. He's still constantly listening for any faint tracks or unrecognizable rustling, half-expecting a daemon to jump out of them without warning. Occasionally, the wind tricks him into whipping his head around as though he'll somehow be able to spot something through the shroud of darkness, but he knows his imagination is only crafting illusions that don't reflect reality. Memories also taint the atmosphere, recalling that the last time they traversed this ground had been when they'd lost the Regalia for the first time. 

When they finally arrive at the camp site, Prompto assists him in setting out ingredients in a straight line and pointing out what each one is to him while also guiding his hands over them. The textures give him the most information as his fingers glide from one carrot stem to another before tracing over the sprigs of parsley. At some point, Prompto had gone through the trouble of purchasing unique containers for each spice so he would be able to tell them apart by simply feeling over them which also makes it easier to know which one is the salt, and while he used to measure his spices by sight, he's starting to using measuring spoons for greater accuracy. 

Throughout Prompto's quiet and careful instruction, Ignis can sense Noctis seated close by, the wind carrying the unique scent of his shampoo upwards. Such a detail would have never made a lasting impression before, but he's learned to distinguish his smell from others, especially after he's been working out. There's a sharp aroma that arises from him, something close to the salt from sea air that's too strong to ignore, and while he tries to convince his mind that it's pungent, he can't help himself from inhaling it in when it does curdle in the air. 

Right now, it's his crisp, cleanly state that's more distracting as it reminds him of the shower-fresh smell of his skin that he'd pick up on sometimes when they had to share a hotel room bed. Noctis could never fall asleep soundly unless he was clean -almost like a purification ritual that would strip the day's tribulations from him and wash them down the drain. Noctis also could never fall asleep facing him out of embarrassment, so he would pick up the smell from the back of his neck where his hairline would touch his skin. Something that was all essentially his would be concentrated in that area, and Ignis would unconsciously see the prince in his dreams, always as a younger boy pleading with him to sneak out to watch the eclipse. Those warm summer nights had them both feeling bones far too large for their skin, sitting side by side while their knees knocked together, and Noctis' quiet voice would stumble over the names of stars that Ignis had tried to teach him.

The sound of the fire crackling a few feet away snaps him out of his revelry as Gladio tells him the grill is ready. 

"Not like you to space out," he adds, the low timber of his words suggesting he's worried. 

"I wasn't," he says with the most microscopic hint of petulance, "I was merely listening to the noises around me." 

If Gladio has any reaction to his words, he can't discern it at all with how silent his presence seems before him. Even his breathing doesn't at all change in rhythm. It takes a few beats before anyone does deign to speak, and it's the prince who breaks the silence with an exclamated hiss. 

"Don't tell me you burned yourself with the lighter," Gladio murmurs, solving the mystery instantly of what happened. 

"Your fault for packing an ancient lighter in here." 

"That's because real outdoorsmen use nature all around them to make a fire," Gladio retorts, and the words are broken up with the intermittent sound of sucking which he presumes is from Noctis crudely putting his fingers in his mouth rather than rubbing them in ointment like any sane person would do. 

"Tell nature to stop covering everything in water then." 

"Guys," Prompto interrupts, probably already assuming a squabble is about to take place. Ever the mediator, his steps bring him physically between the prince and his shield, "can we focus on the important things? I'm _starving._ Food first, fighting later."  
   
Ignis now feels put on the spot, unable to shake the feeling of three pairs of eyes on him as he absently works on chopping the garula meat for the stew he's planning to prepare. Given the level of humidity in the air, he's almost certain it's going to rain later, so they will need something to stay warm when the night brings with it an unforgiving breeze. A part of him is almost looking forward to it as he pauses in his chopping to brush away some of the sweat from his forehead. The other three eventually distract themselves with an idle game of cards, a pleasant litany of background noise in the way Noctis grows belligerent when Prompto wins three hands in a row. He can almost see the childish pout on his features along with the sharp-eyed smirk Gladio must be throwing his way as he ribs him for being a sore loser. 

It's still his deepest wish that they could have more days like this, just the four of them placidly enjoying one another's presence, but he hasn't forgotten that forboding sensation that's been threading through his nerve endings one by one, making it impossible to quell his hyper-vigilance. With the sun no longer dusting along his eyelids, he knows night has befallen them, and with it come newer sounds. The nocturnal insects chirp loudly and incessantly, birds flap across one canopy to another, fire crackles in its wild and chaotic dance. The stew bubbles beneath his nose, a pleasant aroma that he immerses himself in until his phone vibrates, letting him know how much time has passed. 

When they eat, it's in companionable silence, Prompto's eager slurps joining a symphony of Gladio's more boisterous clacks when his spoon hits the edge of the bowl. Noctis always eats the quietest, trained since birth on proper table manners in spite of having always protested them. It's difficult to remove that underlying primness in some of his actions, having always been able to tell that Noctis was of noble birth simply by the way he sits and holds his utensils -small details anyone else might miss, but to him, they're stark and ever-present. Not even the slightest slurp escapes him just as he also takes to eating with unmasked refinement. 

"So what's the plan when we get back to Insomnia?" Prompto finally deigns to ask, voicing the one big question that had been on all their minds since they found out about the Niflheim Empire's attack.

"Clear the place out then get Noct coronated," Gladio answers, and he can guess from Noctis' coughs that the larger man must have slapped him good-naturedly across the back.

"That mean we got to call you King Noct?" Prompto conitues, "Doesn't sound quite right." 

"Just Noct is fine," Noctis replies hurriedly as if he's already embarrassed by just the title alone. "Why would that have to change?"

"Being King's like a whole other level. It's like you're being promoted to a five-star or something."

A huff of amusement leaves Gladio's nose as the older man stirs beside him. Ignis' face turns reflexively in his direction, waiting for the derisive comment that's surely to proceed. 

"More like he's still the trashy three-star you get on a bad roll." 

"No way! I was a five star all the way. No promotion needed." 

"Keep dreaming." 

More jostling erupts next to him, the likes of which Ignis can only imagine, though he also thinks it would be unusual to resort to calling Noctis by any fomal titles. While propriety dictates he should, it's hard to put such a defining line in their relationship after all they've been through. 

The prince's next words draw everyone's attention.

"Who's even going to go to the coronation? I mean, it's just us and the other four... a lot of people still don't know I'm even alive."

That's something Ignis would have taken care of -notifying the press. He'd been so distracted with other matters, he hadn't even thought to send a message to the world at large that their king lives, though in his defense, it also wouldn't have been wise to make much of a splash about him when Noctis could barely walk. He also didn't want to have him targeted or pestered when he'd been that vulnerable.

"Now that you've recuperated substantially, I could make arrangements to have some journalists cover the story. If I recall correctly, our good friends, Dino and Vyv, would be more than delighted to release word on your return." 

It would certainly guarantee them sales and profit, though he wishes he didn't have to exploit Noctis to that degree. He supposes there are few other options what with the Lucian press all but scattered or dead from the attack on Insomnia. Even though Noctis doesn't say anything, he can tell that he's bothered by the solution, having always despised the attention. It's a feeling he will have to grow out of quickly when he'll be expected to address his people regularly now and to be a public figure as his father and Luna had been. His is the voice they will be relying on in these trying times. He's their last symbol of hope. 

"Don't worry, we'll make sure they put in a good picture of you," Prompto adds before clicking away at his camera, "I'm not letting my best pal look bad in the papers. Come on, give me a sexy smoulder." 

He can only imagine what expression Noctis is actually giving at that prompt, chuckling quietly at the picture that comes to mind. 

"I said 'sexy', not grumpy!" 

"I'm not doing sexy faces for you. Maybe if you give me an extra strip of your garula beef."  

"That's our future king for you," Ignis muses out loud as he settles back in the chair, "willing to sell out on his principles for meat." 

"Damn right," Noctis agrees, making the rest of them laugh in reponse before once again only the sounds of the winding evening envelop Ignis. Home feels so close already, but their journey has yet to reach its precipice. Hopefully, there's no valid reason for his instincts to be so on edge, but they've yet to prove him wrong. That thought alone keeps him awake for longer than he'd like to be that night, eyes open to 'stare' up at the top of the tent while raindrops plod against the thick fabric. On any other night, the sound would make him drowsy and drag him into a heavy, blissful sleep, but tonight, all he can do is hear the drumming sound of it, reminding him of the droning of a swarm of insects covering them all in a cocoon of small, viciously ravenous bodies threatening to devour them in seconds. It's that peculiar, looming fear that keeps him from rest, one hand draped along his sternum, trying to feel his own heart beat to make sure it's even there. This anxiousness may very well unravel him at this rate. 

 

**007.**

 

"Bad news," a voice breaks out in the early morning.

Not the words Noctis wants to hear when he's tucked into his half-curled ball of princely exhaustion in one corner of the tent, his legs and spine screaming at him from all the walking. It seems he's still not as up to shape as he thought he'd be at this juncture, but he tries to conceal that fact as he stirs. The rest of the tent is already empty save for Gladio's head poking in, and Noctis is surprised he isn't being hauled out more roughly if he's the one who was sent to get him. It's probably because of how battered hid body had been not too long ago, and he's quietly glad for that bit of reprieve as it means he can actually sleep in, though he'd be hard-pressed to remember what he even was dreaming about.

All he knows is how deeply it had pulled him under the surface of reality, as though he was being drawn into the deepest end of the ocean with lead cuffs on his ankles, watching the sun's light grow dimmer by the second until he could no longer see the sky above. The breathless feeling chases him as he tries to unfold his body, maneuvering to a sitting position and yawning as he tries to focus on Gladio's face. The haze of sleep still hangs over his sight, making him blink a few times before the older man's face grows clear, and that's when he notices the grave expression stretched out across his features.

"Too early for bad news," he replies with a groan, but tension is already starting to creep along his chest, hoping it's nothing _too_ terrible. His mind can already conjure a few possibilities, many of them having to do with Ardyn resurrecting, not a thought he wants to commit to.

It's pointless to ruminate over it as he accepts Gladio's hand and climbs to his feet. His muscles still weigh heavily across his arms and legs, making it difficult to walk steadily as he eases on the leg brace. With it, he can walk with more stability, even as his heart continues to make a pronounced vibration in his chest. It's rare for Gladio not to shoot off a jab or tease at his sleeping habits, and he has to swallow down the sudden knot in his throat while he follows him out of the tent.

Prompto and Ignis are already grouped together, the two of them standing rigidly while they inspect something, and the wall of its putrid aroma slams into Noctis hard before he can even see what it is. His eyes nearly water at the intensity of it, raising his shirt to cover up his nose and mouth before peaking across Prompto's shoulder.

Curled up on the ground lies two massacred voretooths, which shouldn't be surprising. They had run into several while traveling and had carried out their own massacre to clear the path to the camp site. These two carcasses are already covered in maggots and flies, the tell-tale buzzing filling the otherwise silent terrain and forcing Noctis to instinctively swat them away. 

"What's the bad news?" 

Ignis crouches down to press his gloved fingers over the side of one of the voretooth's carcass, the digits moving over globules of congealed black tar-like blood. More of it oozes out as though it's fresh, dribbling onto the grass and emitting an odor that penetrates the thin fabric of Noctis' t-shirt.

"I still don't get it," he continues, eyebrows furrowing while he studies the corpse.

"I noticed something was off when I picked up the scent," Ignis begins, his voice steady and calm in spite of his grim expression, "It's been infected by whatever bit it, I presume, and blood should not be continuing to flow like this so long after it's been killed. It's… unnatural. On further inspection, no meat had been stripped from its body. Whatever killed it wasn't hunting at all…" 

"You think it's like a zombie now?" Prompto asks before poking at its head with his boot and looking wary as though the dead voretooth really might move and come alive without warning.

"I don't know," Ignis replies honestly before pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his gloves. "We should continue to investigate this matter and see if the local hunters have noticed anything." 

Noctis' gaze peers outwards as he notices that these aren't the only two corpses around. Dozens of voretooths lie along the terrain in various patterns, each looking more grotesque than the next, mangled, distorted bodies bubbling with that black-tinged liquid that makes it impossible to breathe. The thick, heady scent continues to make Noctis feel nauseous as he walks between them uncertainly. 

"So what's the plan?" he finally asks, knowing he probably shouldn't leave the matter alone entirely. He's seen what an infestation of daemons is like and would rather that fate not befall the rest of Eos. 

Ignis quietly curls his fingers beneath his chin as his face grows still in contemplation before he answers, "Prompto and I can collect one to take to the hunter's headquarters where the Marshal and Monica are while you and Gladio can continue along the trail to see if you can locate the root cause, but I must stress that you do not recklessly engage it." 

Those words feel like more of a pointed warning towards Noctis than Gladio, something the prince takes mild offense to as he inclines his head towards Gladio. "He's the big show-off here." 

That earns him a jostle to the side from Gladio before his shield gives Ignis his thumbs up. "We'll take care of it. You guys don't get lost on the drive." 

A pointed warning now directed at Prompto.

"I know where I'm going. Ignis has got nothing to worry about." 

Something in Ignis' expression indicates that he's very much worried about that prospect, but there is little he can do about it at the moment. Noctis feels a twinge of guilt, recalling how much Ignis used to enjoy being in control of the Regalia. Giving it up all of the sudden and entrusting himself to others is probably more difficult than he wants to admit out loud, knowing he would also feel the same were he in his position. He doesn't know how Ignis can stand to look so calm all the time about his injury, but a part of him is hoping he's not on the verge of exploding for repressed emotion. He knows all too well what that's like -how he couldn't keep it together after they left Altissia; how all he could do was relive his mistakes like a film reel that was starting to degrade fast inside his mind until the strips would snap. 

Gladio's knuckles nudging the end of his arm drag him back out of those murky thoughts as he catches himself watching Prompto's and Ignis' retreating figures. He can hear Ignis quietly say, "Just be sure to wear your seat belt this time and no radio," and Prompto retaliating with a "I'm more worried about driving with one of those things in the back. They reek." Their voices start to fade out as Noctis and Gladio start following the strewn bodies, the scent growing all the more virulent as it clouds around them. The intensity of it makes Noctis feel dizzy, but he trudges forward with Gladio's more resolute steps next to him. 

Though they had been at odds with one another not too long ago, Noctis had accepted that Gladio had been right about a lot of things, namely about how afraid he'd been to accept his responsibility. The thought of wearing the ring that had damned so many of his ancestors before had made him think twice about ever putting it on. He also didn't want to be the one to bring any further misfortune to the people around him -not so soon after losing Luna. The guilt had stripped him of what little self-confidence he had in himself, and his first recourse has always been to run away and hide inside himself. Even as a kid, he used to sneak out of the Citadel as often as he could to try and see life through the eyes of a normal child, but the scars painted on his skin back then had reinforced the fact that he'll never get to enjoy anything resembling normalcy. His destiny had been cast into stone, but he'd defied it once already, hadn't he? 

His eyes shift skyward as if seeking some kind of confirmation only to be greeted by the sight of clouds silently rolling in to shroud away the sun's heat while a thick breeze brushes through their hair and clothes. Unfortunately, that means they're facing upwind and getting a strong whiff of the stench every time they're even just a couple of feet in range of one of the carcasses left behind. 

"I'm guessing whatever it is, it's not going to go down easy," Gladio remarks with uncharacteristic trepidation.

After seeing what kind of monstrosities had been looming back in Gralea, he doesn't blame him. They know the extent in which the creatures around here could be mutated -the kind of carnage they could create if they reach any of the major cities, and Noctis still isn't sure if he's retained the covenant of the Astrals. None of them have communicated with him since he'd unleashed Shiva on Ardyn. 

There's still a lot of questions Noctis has about himself and his role in this new world, if he even has one. The fact that he had been fated to die still weighs thickly on his mind, and the crystal's power is all currently lurking somewhere inside his body -the only reason he hadn't been permanently crippled after the fight. Everything he had absorbed had somehow saved him and helped him regain his strength when any other person would have been obliterated, leaving him feeling as though he's the one, lingering anomaly in this world. Will he become twisted like Ardyn over time because of it, feel as though the gods and fate had forsaken him? Would he lash out at the very people he'd promised to protect? 

The thoughts tumble clumsily over another as he and Gladio continue their trek until there are no more dead voretooths on the path. 

"The trail ends here," Gladio points out, his boots crunching the grass underneath as he looms over the site of the creature's final kill. There are several large claw prints in the mud yet no indication as to whether or not they were caused by the predator they're hunting or some other beast. Neither of them are familiar enough with the local bestiary to really know.

Gladio's fingers absently trace the outline of it before grabbing his phone to take a couple of pictures. By now, the scent has grown so overbearing that Noctis has crept away with a hand cupped over nose and mouth in an effort to keep his dinner from last night down. 

"You doing all right over there?" he hears from behind, and all Noctis can do is nod and suppress his gag reflex.

His muscles then all lock together at once, body growing rigid at the sound of an anguished cry from a few meters away. It's definitely not human, but it doesn't sound like an animal either with a strange layered reverberation that echoes from the source. The sound is further amplified by its shrill pierce as it bluntly stabs through his ears, and Noctis' heart awakens with unyielding fear, slamming up against his rib cage while he summons one of his weapons to his hand. Harboring the same idea, Gladio holds on tight to his great sword and slings it across his shoulders as he moves carefully towards the source of that awful cry.

It continues to ring out throughout the forest terrain around them in increasing desperation and ferocity until something finally leaps out of the corner of Noctis' eye. Before he can even swing his sword around to slice through it, Gladio is there, protectively holding it back with his sword and forcing the creature far enough away from the two of them with a mighty push to get a good look at it. Two eyes bear down on him, yellow irises visible among the black sclera of its eyeballs as black liquid dribbles down its maw. The stench of rotting flesh emanates from the spots where its emaciated bones peak through, and the skin on its sides is barely threaded together, bones peeking through gaping wounds and maggots still gnawing along the tar-covered edges of its flesh. 

"Prompto was right...," Noctis murmurs, his jaw starting to tremble a bit as his fingers struggle to maintain their hold on his sword, "Zombie voretooths." 

"The universe has picked a hell of a time to make Prompto look good." 

It's a sentiment Noctis shares at the moment, wishing Prompto had been so, _so_ wrong about this. More growls erupt from behind as several decaying voretooths appear, screaming and growling as though they're begging to be put out of their misery. Noctis can barely stand the noise as he gives Gladio a short nod, and they both stand back to back, picking up on each other's non-verbal cues. After a year of fighting together and nearly dying by one another's side, they've developed enough synergy that they hardly have to map out any plans out loud, granted the one thought going through both their minds at the moment is simply to try and survive this. Outnumbered and with no direction to run, they have no choice but to go on the offense. 

"You got my back, I got yours," Noctis says quickly, and his legs are already bent before launching himself into a quick warp-strike right out of the pack. 

His body ends up hovering mid-air away from them, making sure Gladio's chopped his way out from the pack before unleashing a devastating quintcast spell on them. The immediate terrain around them suddenly flashes as a wall of fire engulfs the grass at an alarming rate. Shortly after, lightning bursts downwards in bright spikes, hitting the ground and sending bolts of volatile electricity in every direction. The creatures screech from the assault, some practically melting down into the black, tar-like liquid while others try and latch their teeth onto them. 

On the other end, Gladio is rushing towards him as he swings his sword with one savage blow after another, dragging the thick blade through as many voretooths as possible. Their desiccated bodies split in half with their spoiled blood flying all around them, dotting Noctis' cheek and arm while he flits from one end of the battlefield to another to take out the rest, and the fire still raging on the ground eats through their undead corpses quickly after. Noctis ends up stabbing the last of them, pushing his blade through the voretooth's snout and dislodging its head rather violently until its left rolling away. Its jaw, though barely attached, keeps moving, releasing a haunting wail that persists without end until Nocts is forced to crush its skull beneath his boot just to stop it.

He's left panting and barely standing afterwards, the fight having taken a lot out of him after spending so much time away from a real battle. His muscles howl in pain as he leans against Gladio who shoots him a concerned look before placing an arm around his shoulders to help him stay upright. 

"Doubt those are the last we'll see of them," Gladio tells him, his brows stitched together in worry as they're both left to observe the remnants of their small battlefield. Noctis is just hoping inwardly that they don't decide to get back up again, considering how mortality has become an abstract concept to them. 

"I think we should burn everything that's left of them." 

It's the only way they can ensure they're too dead to get back up again. Gladio responds with a short nod before letting Noctis rest against one of the trees as he rounds up the pile of corpses. The whole while, his face scrunches up in abject disgust as he struggles not to get any of their secretions on him. 

"You're up," he indicates with a pat on his shoulder, and Noctis wordlessly takes his spot by the pile of voretooths to unleash another powerful quintcast spell then watch as the fire licks its way over their bodies and starts to char everything to ash. The smell of rotten flesh is thankfully covered by the scent of smoke as the embers crawl upwards towards the sky, and the two of them remain on edge as they watch the fire, half-expecting one of the voretooths will crawl right out of the blaze somehow. 

Though- if these creatures were able to come back to life, what does that mean for the others they found closer to the campsite? It's a thought that suddenly creeps into Noctis' head as the remembers Prompto and Ignis said they would be grabbing one and taking it back with them to the local hunter's headquarters for examination. His heart stills beneath his throat as panic surges through the rest of him, and he glances at Gladio as the dawning realization paints its way over his features as well. The older man quickly whips out his cell phone in response as they both start their desperate sprint back to the camp site.

Half-way through their run, Gladio ends up cursing in frustration as he glares at his phone almost accusingly. "I can't reach Ignis." 

Noctis had been trying to dial Prompto at the same time, but the phone only rings endlessly without response. 

"Nothing here either." 

Hopefully, the other two are all right, but Noctis still can't help trying to choke down the swell of worry working its way through his system as he tries to pick up the pace. With his legs still weak, he knows he's not running as fast as he can, but his mind is more than compensating for it as he starts to go through every possible scenario, the worst being finding Prompto and Ignis just as badly mangled and torn apart as the voretooth carcasses. He has a hard time convincing himself it won't come to that, but he knows they're more than trained to handle it. Even with Ignis' eyesight gone, Prompto would undoubtedly protect the both of them, and they still have access to his magic and his weapons. 

It's that thought he clings to tightly as he picks up his pace and feels his lungs burn with urgency, trying to keep up with Gladio. 

_Please let them be okay. I don't want to lose them again._

 

**008.**

 

The dream that Ignis had the night before still leaves a bad taste in his mouth as he recalls the strange buzzing of flies. His memory's eyes are clearer than the ones he wears daily now, able to mold with absolute precision the shapes and outlines of each and every little fly. The more he tries to recall it, the crisper his vision becomes of the insects having been gnawing on some kind of amber-eyed creature that had been staring at him as though the pain it had incurred in death had continued to follow it into its afterlife. The whole scene had been rather unsettling, and he'd woken up drenched in sweat and utterly breathless. Noctis had been curled up next to him at the time, the prince's face smoothed out in his usual sleep-induced bliss while he struggled to get more oxygen into his lungs. 

He'd been certain he'd only been suffering strange delusions as a result of all the duress they've been under in their preparations to return to Insomnia. While he should have taken comfort in the fact that the prince had been there and safe by their sides, the pit of his stomach had only roiled unpleasantly since their departure, and sure enough, hours later, they had discovered the severed remains of many voretooths smelling beyond putrid and blistering with infection. What the affliction is exactly is something Ignis can't ascertain quite yet, but perhaps, he can consult with Professor Sania over it later. For now, he and Prompto had been charged with securing one of them to the back of their pick-up trick and bringing it to the hunter's headquarters down the road, a feat easier imagined than accomplished as Prompto had to verbally direct him so the two of them could pick the deceased body. The scent hadn't done them any favors, the both of them left to try and swallow down their nausea as they carried the voretooth over several meters. 

By the time they reached the truck, Prompto was gasping in relief and covering the dead body in whatever tarps and blankets he could find to somehow smother it. 

"Think that takes care of it," he mutters after a while, swiping his hands against one another to clean off debris. 

The sound of skin brushing against skin directs Ignis' attention to Prompto before he nods. He has to feel around the side of the truck to find the handle to let himself in, sinking in to the passenger side after. It still feels unusual not to be in the driver's seat, especially since he'd spent so many years driving around Noctis as soon as he was able. It had merely been one of the many responsibilities in his purview as his chamberlain and advisor, and not being able to drive any longer is a constant reminder about his current inadequacies. Thoughts of being a burden to his friends keep haunting him almost to the point of trying to overcompensate by thinking of other ways he could be useful, unwilling to be left behind even when a part of him knows it would be the more prudent recourse. 

He's still operating on a complicated mixture of both selflessness and seflishness, but he doesn't think he's the only one. Prompto could have left them all after his ordeal in Gralea to try and figure out the meaning of his own identity. Being Niflheim-born, branded for life... there are many things he hasn't dealt with quite yet, things that Ignis has no business prying into, but he does worry that holding it all inside in favor of placing Noctis' needs first might cause him to break down at some point. Perhaps, the two of them had been prioritizing their friend simply to escape having to confront their own fears and insecurities.

It's what makes the silence between them as they drive to the headquarters all the more stagnant and palpable, as though there are words they _should_ be saying to one another -better ones instead of simply trading quips back and forth. Yet neither of them know how to begin the conversation. 

They never get the chance to figure out how as a certain scratching noise from the back of the truck grabs Ignis' attention. It almost sounds like a small rodent clawing away at the truck's rear frame. He dismisses it at first until he notices the steady rise in volume, as though the amount of rodents are suddenly multiplying in either number or ferocity. 

"You hear that?" Prompto finally deigns to ask, and the both of them stop moving entirely to try and pick up the noise.

For a few seconds, silence spreads through out the truck's interior cabin, only the whir of the motor cutting through it. Ignis is almost convinced everything had been in his imagination. That is, until something blunt and sharp comes into contact with the rear window behind them, cracking the glass, and a ghastly roar erupts, the savagery of it echoing with an ethereal quality that makes all of Ignis' hair stand on end. 

"Pull over," he orders as calm as he can manage, and Prompto does his best not to ram them into the nearest tree as Ignis hears him grab his gun. 

"How's it still even alive?!" 

Those words indicate that their current assailant is indeed the voretooth they had placed back there. Ignis hadn't wanted to immediately jump to that conclusion, but it seemed like the most logical, given their situation. That means something in the infected bite had affected the creature -the black 'blood' that had been bubbling out of the wound, he presumes. Prompto had provided enough graphic descriptions of it to give him the initial assessment that it had some very unnatural properties. Now, the question is... how are they supposed to examine it if it won't stay dead? He'd been completely certain it wasn't alive earlier. The creature was not breathing or moving at all.

"You may have been rather close with your zombie theory." 

"I don't want to be right about this!!" Prompto wails before cocking his gun. 

The glass keeps cracking behind him with how much the voretooth continues to pummel at it with its claws, and Ignis decides now is the best time to leave the confines of the vehicle, opening his side of the door and stumbling out. The terrain is unfamiliar to him, but he can hear the voretooth pursuing them as Prompto's gun shots ring out one by one in various directions. 

"My bullets aren't doing anything! Got any magic flasks on you?" 

Fortunately for the two of them, he came prepared. He only wishes he could focus better on where it's location is, unwilling to unleash it on Prompto. "I'll need you to try and disable it first so it stays still then clear the area."

"Got it. One gravisphere coming right up." 

The flask appears in Ignis' fingers as he waits, hearing the sound of Prompto's firearm before the tell-tale frequency of his gravisphere attack. The voretooth shrieks in protest as its battered body struggles against the magnetism of the orb before Igis breaks the flask right underneath it. Ice quickly devours the landscape around them, the chill bursting across his flesh and hopefully encasing and preserving the voretooth's body. His other options would have left it too incinerated. Hopefully, this will be enough to continue their transport. 

As he moves to inspect the body, a quiet growl peels out from somewhere behind him, the noise of something large and angry. Tension grips Ignis' limbs fast, fingers poised against the frozen voretooth as he wills himself to remain calm. 

"Um...," Prompto starts, and he can hear his fidgeting through the rustle of his clothes.

"I know," Ignis responds, trying to assess the situation fast, "How many?" 

"About 5-6 coming from the east. Won't be able to get another gravisphere going this soon." 

Had he his vision still, that wouldn't be too troubling to deal with between the both of them. They're seasoned soldiers and hunters by now, but as it stands, he's doubting how well he can hit them with his knives and avoid hurting Prompto. 

"We'll keep them distracted until then." 

It's not the most fully formed of plans, but it's the only one he has as he sprints off into the opposite direction of Prompto. He doesn't know how many are after him, but he hears them trotting close by, mouths hanging open as heavy pants roll out. It's almost like they had never lain dead at all. It's even more concerning they managed to follow them where the one they had taken with them was. It's almost as if they were following instructions... but from what? Any voretooth that saw the others dead would flee the area to protect itself. They are not known to practice anything as sophisticated as vengeance. Following them in a vehicle... the size and noise of it alone should have scared them off, but they're attacking without any sense of preservation. 

Something is definitely peculiar about their attack pattern, a fact that he files in the back of his mind for later consideration while he grasps his knives in hand. His legs propel him away as he hears Prompto's gunshots ricochet off trees or land inside what desiccated meat still clings to the bones of the undead voretooths. One of his knives ends up being chucked in the general direction of the creature's snarl, only recognizing its met its mark when a pained cry follows. Another creature rushes at him from behind and only narrowly misses mauling him as Ignis pivots in the last second and breaks out into a sprint. He can hear their footsteps padding roughly against the ground, leaves stirred as they run through, and his own breaths tumble out furiously, aiming to keep them off of himself and also away from Prompto. 

He doesn't know how far he manages to get before his leg snags on tree root, causing him to stumble roughly to the ground and lose grip on his knives. One of the creatures seems to spot him as he can hear it presumably signaling the others with a howling sound, and there are suddenly too many footsteps -more than Ignis can count or follow. His body scrambles away, rushing to get off the ground as he feels around for his knives. His adrenaline is pumping through him, increasing his panic and urgency as his fingers claw at the dirt, frustrated that he can't do something as simple as locate his weapon. 

There's sweat dribbling down the sides of his face, hearing his breath forced out of him at a frantic pace while his heart booms loudly between his ribs. The fear that he may die here -or worse- become infected overrides any semblance of reason, not wanting to fall so short of their goal. 

_I can't die here_ he tells himself, trying to summon the will not to devolve wholly into despair and surrender.

Just as that thought flits through his mind, he hears a disembodied voice whispering next to his ear, light, gentle, female.

"Awaken, child, he needs you," the voice tells him, the tendrils of each word tickling his ear until Ignis almost thinks there's someone next to him, but he doesn't feel the warmth of anyone's presence.

Instead, he finds his knife and turns on his back, just as one of the creatures covers him, its body limber and fast. The warmth permeating from it fuses straight into his spine like a heavy blanket, driving along his unyielding desperation, and his hand moves fast to try and stab it in the side before he's suddenly flooded with not the scent of rotting flesh but something close to crisp sea-salt. It makes him pause completely as his other hand gropes around, finding the creature to have soft and decidedly _human_ skin instead of hanging tissue and dried up flesh. It surprises him how instantly recognizable this body is, and he almost collapses in relief, his fingers pawing upwards without thought or reason until he comes into contact with damp hair, gathered up in coils of matted and tangled sweat, and he inhales once more just to convince himself this is real right now.

"Noct," he says quietly before he begins to push himself to sit, his forehead accidentally coming into contact with the prince's warmer one. As if on cue, the other man recoils fast and helps him up before speaking. 

"Guess you found out the hard way," he murmurs, and Ignis tries to imagine what kind of expression he must be wearing -if he's worried at all or simply in a state of shock himself. He wouldn't blame him. His mind had seemed immobilized with terror just seconds ago to the point where he'd been hearing voices. 

"Is there anyone else with you?" he questions, just to be certain it hadn't been Monica or any of the hunters. 

"Only Gladio. He went to bail out Prompto. I saw you running this way so I tried to keep them off you." 

All the footsteps, he'd heard... that must have been Noctis scuffling with the creatures, though he hadn't heard his tell-tale warp-striking at all. He'd either been too distracted to pick them up or Noctis had worked himself into complete stasis already. His face pulls into a worried frown, wishing he could assess the prince's state like this. 

As if sensing his concern, Noctis immediately reassures him.

"I'm fine. You're the one who was crawling around the ground seconds ago."

Of course, someone had to be around to bear witness to that. Shame creeps up on him quickly as he wipes his mud-covered hands on his shirt, trying not to focus on how unkempt he must look. 

"Not one of my finer moments, I'm afraid." 

Being in this constant disarray will never be a feeling he can ease himself into without difficulty, and he feels as though he'd done very little just now. Now, he's the one suddenly relying on Noctis frequently for assistance in a role-reversal that seems as though they are both clumsily trying to fit into one another's shoes. It still ails him that he can no longer even read Noctis' emotions by expression, doing his best to try and study how he sounds instead -if he's annoyed, perturbed, tense-, but he'd spent a lifetime analyzing and deconstructing Noctis' body language and face more than he has his speech. 

"Come on, let's get back to the others. Told Gladio and Prompto to incinerate all but one so we can take it with us. That was the plan, right?" 

Right. They still have a job to do, and that means getting one of them back semi-alive to the headquarters. The task doesn't prove easy at all, especially when the voretooth refuses to lie still. It's Gladio and Prompto who ride in the back with it, keeping its head covered and its jaw under control while they'd done everything they could to keep it bound. The drive also ends up being bumpy as they navigate the more desert-like terrain of Leide, and every once in a while, Ignis hears Noctis cursing under his breath as the truck jostles around heavily while Gladio shouts out Noctis to 'stop running over every damn rock and tree on the road'. 

If the prince looks at all repentant, Ignis can't tell, only picking up the unsteady lull in his breathing before he occasionally exhales outwards. The vision of his breath curling away from his lips suddenly brings him back to that unusual voice he'd heard, wondering if delirium had been affecting him before. It's not like him to be so easily distracted, but his senses tend to betray him more than cooperate with him lately. It's difficult piecing together what sort of reality lies outside of the darkness, and he doesn't know what exactly he's supposed to 'awaken' from. As for the 'he' who needs him, that's not difficult to ascertain at all, but Ignis has been wondering this whole time whether or not it's him who really needs Noctis. Where does his purpose lie outside of making sure he becomes king and guiding him along those steps? If Noctis had died that day against Ardyn, then what would he have done? 

The thought has lingered in his mind countless times, causing him to war with himself on whether or not it really is a good idea to leave Noctis and entrust him to better hands -whether or not he's only been making excuses for himself to stay. Whether or not he wants to stay because it's simply comfortable and familiar. Throwing that all away would mean rebuilding his life from nothing and walking away from his friends who had put their trust in him for so long. 

In the end, he latches onto the idea that he really might be needed by Noctis' side, yet he isn't sure if it's for the practical reasons that come to mind. The possibilities swirl through his thoughts to the background chorus of other cars passing by them, horns beeping, birds crying, one enraged voretooth struggling. 

 

 **009.**

 

The hunter's headquarters is bustling noisily by the time the four of them arrive, the sun just beginning to set, meaning the daemons will be out in full swing soon. Cor is already waiting for them as they pull in, his face grim and brow set forward. That's never a sign of good news, but Noctis refrains from fretting as he and Gladio work together to carry the struggling voretooth. The sound it makes still causes shivers to haplessly tumble down his spine, unable to forget that awful, unnatural echo with it, especially when it draws him back to the fight he had with Ardyn. Both of them tightly locked, blades pressed together as the flesh mask around Ardyn's face peeled back, and black liquid dribbled down his too pale face like tears. When he smiled, his saliva was also painted black and caked around yellow teeth, and his breath smelled of a rotten corpse as it brushed hotly over his face, filling him with a revulsion he'd carry into so many nightmares after. Seeing him then had made it impossible to disbelieve Ardyn's assertion that the gods had truly forsaken him. 

He hadn't looked at all like something that should have been allowed to exist, and time had only degraded him further until he could barely hold the shape of a man. No, everyday, he'd grown more and more monstrous as vengeance bled out of his heart in black rivers that Noctis now finds on his hands as he and Gladio drag the voretooth's body from the truck. Several other hunters gather, eyes wide as they trade murmurs with one another, confirming that this isn't the first of these undead creatures they've seen. The Marshal looks the most stricken out of them, as though he'd already seen enough to warrant a lifetime of nightmares, but he makes no comment until Gladio pulls away the tarp. 

The voretooth lies all bound and agitated, whipping its head around and growling as it drools feebly onto the ground. Its horrid scent wafts through the area around them in a thick, oppressive cloud that makes Noctis' eyes water. He fears he might never take enough showers in his lifetime to wash it off himself, but Cor looks more concerned about the potential carnage the voretooth can cause. 

"We've had multiple sightings, all with the same description. Decomposed animals coming back to life. Hitchhikers and travelers being mauled. It hasn't started to affect humans yet.. the ones bitten were quarantined here for several days but no change." 

How Cor can say all of that so calmly is a true testament of his military prowess. Noctis wouldn't even be able to stomach the thought of him or any of the other guys falling prey to whatever is causing this. He would never want their bodies to be desecrated after death, and it worries him they weren't able to find a source for the bites. He imagines it must be a unique kind of daemon. 

"Some of the voretooths we found had bite marks on the side." 

The Marshal nods as he motions them to follow into one of the large tented areas. There are various types of radio equipment lined up along one side and hooked up to all sorts of monitors and computers. A woman in a lab coat briefly glances up at them before resuming whatever she'd been typing. In front of her lies a plexiglass case with some decayed rats moving around inside, their shrieks no less harrowing than the ones the voretooths emitted earlier. 

"We've picked up multiple species already with the same symptoms. Only humans have been immune to it so far, but we also don't know who the original transmitter is or if there are more of them." 

Just how long had Cor known about this, and why are they all only finding about it today? Shouldn't he have been briefed about this before they'd left Caem? His lips press into a hard line as frustration builds inside of him, trying to figure out what he should even do from here. 

"I know what you're thinking," Cor continues, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and squeezing inwards with the tips of his fingers, "but the the hunters can handle this for now. You've got business back in Insomnia, remember?" 

Business that doesn't have any potentially devastating world-ending effects. Noctis had been oblivious before, but he'd crawled through the belly of the beast once before in Zegnautus Keep. How can he call himself king and turn a blind eye to any of this? Hadn't his father done that when he decided to seal them all up safely inside of Insomnia? And to what effect? His homeland is now a ruin, and most of his people are dead. 

"I can't," Noctis grits out, his hand curling tight by his side, "I don't want to be a king who sits on his throne all day while other people die for him." 

The words fall sharply without a second thought, drawing a surprised expression from Cor who seems to contemplate his words before nodding quietly. The hand slides away from his shoulder as he maintains firm eye contact, indicating he won't back down from his position even if he knows where Noctis is coming from. 

"You need to actually sit on the throne first before making that kind of demand. Fulfill your destiny, get crowned, and then, we can talk about how you can help." 

Ready to argue back, Noctis immediately pries his mouth apart but stops when Ignis places a hand on his chest. It's not the most placating of gestures, but it does at least summon his attention. 

"The Marshal is right, Noct. We can't get side-tracked with an investigation that may take months and months to complete. The people are getting restless. They need someone they can place their hope in. They need to know efforts to rebuild the world that Niflheim had fractured are underway." 

Reasonable words. Reasonable words that pierce right through him even when Noctis feels uncertainty amass and leak outwards from the inside of his chest. The fear that the world at large may come under a bigger threat won't allow his heart to be quelled so easily, but he also knows that Ignis and the Marshal are both right. He has another imperative to fulfill, one that fills him with as much dread. Standing before that many people and proclaiming himself king... he doesn't expect them all to follow him without question. Anyone can blather on about prophecy and destiny, but a part of him isn't sure he's even earned the right to be called king. 

"Fine," is all he ends up replying, the word dripping with irresoluteness as it falls from his mouth. 

The turbulent thoughts rotating in his mind follow him into the evening as all four of them disperse to bathe and rest. Monica ends up fixing them supper with the help of Ignis, who has mastered the art of flipping burgers without his eyesight. Gladio talks to a few hunters about the creatures they'd seen, diligently gathering information, and Prompto keeps him company with a game of darts, one that proceeds with him losing by a sad amount of points. By the 11th miss in a row, Prompto has clued in that he's not quite himself and looks at him with a concerned expression.

"Usually by this time, you're revving up for a classic Noct-styled trantrum," he comments before plucking the fallen darts from the ground. 

The area around them is filled with artificial lights that help to keep the daemons out, lights made from the meteor shards found around Lestallum. It had been the best their engineers and scientists could create thus far, and given how still the area around them had grown outside of the general bustle of the hunters, Noctis believes they're working. 

"Just got a lot on my mind," he answers after a beat. 

"The Marshal's just worried you're gonna get yourself killed before you even get to Insomnia. Already almost lost you once, you know."

The tone with which Prompto says that indicates he hasn't completely coped with what happened, though Noctis imagines that's not the only thing he's still wrestling with. Back in Zegnautus Keep, Prompto hadn't exactly been the most accepting of the truth about himself nor had he been entirely confident about whether or not the three of them would still accept him, but that thought had never crossed his own mind. All he thought of when they finally found him had been whether or not Prompto would be the one who'd hate him for pushing him off the train. Because of him, his friend had suffered so much, and Noctis wishes he could say it'd be the last time that staying by his side would put Prompto in danger. However, there's no guarantee of that at all. There's no guarantee of anything, and he wishes he could protect those around him instead of being a constant catalyst for their near-death experiences.

It's a sentiment that's starting to grow more prominent as he nears Insomnia's outreaches, knowing he can only accept his friends risking their lives for him so many times before it starts to wear at him. It doesn't matter how many times they tell him they've done so willingly, the anxiety that compounds inside of him at the thought of losing any one of them like he had his father and Luna threatens to stretch so far from within that he might eventually unravel. 

"I almost lost you, too," Noctis returns, though his eyes drift along the ground to avoid meeting Prompto's, afraid of what expression he might be giving him. It's rare either of them are ever speak so frankly about what they're feeling, not having really let their guard down since Gralea. Back then, Noctis had been so audacious to ask Prompto to come make the world a better place with him, and his friend had agreed without so much as a second thought. He wants to trust in the veracity of that promise -that he _can_ change the world and that Prompto and his other friends will remain by his side. 

"You know nothing can keep me down. Still alive and kicking after all this time even if I started out a commoner in all this." Prompto's face suddenly comes into view as the blond crouches before him and inclines his body in such a way that they're forced to look each other in the eye. "Do you think I'd leave you high and dry? If you want to go after those zombie-creatures, count me in. You know, after we get you crowned and all." 

His own eyes slowly widen at the honesty in Prompto's gaze, feeling a little breathless by his friend's open fealty, something he isn't even sure if he deserves after all this time. What had he really done for him? Even rescuing him had mostly been a three-man job. Yet Prompto's unyielding conviction in him is surprisingly contagious. He wants to one day erase all those doubts from himself -erase the question of whether or not he will ever be there for Prompto in return. 

His mouth finally quirks up in a smile as he nods, and he feels the heat of Prompto's hand swell against his back as he slowly straightens to his full height. "Talking like a big-shot hunter now, are you? Guess we'll just have to see who can take more zombies down when the time comes then." 

A mirrored smile stretches across Prompto's face as his blond straightens up too before granting him a mock Crownsguard salute. "You're on. Time to get your royal butt kicked, Your Highness" 

"We'll see about that." 

The two of them end up bumping their wrists together affectionately before Ignis signals that their burgers are ready. It's the first real camp food he's had in a long time, and it's never tasted more delicious. He practically devours it in seconds, grateful that Ignis didn't stick any stealth pickles inside this time. The man in question eats at a more sedate pace next to him as though he's trying to assess each bite -probably working out what spice combination he can use to bring out the flavor of the garula meat. Either that or he's still thinking about the voretooths from earlier, but he looks more relaxed than he did when he'd found him in the forest clearing.

Back then, his own breath had frozen in his lungs when he'd seen him surrounded and weaponless, hands sliding everywhere over the grass and mud frantically. His hair had been hanging around his face unkempt, and there were angry scrapes running up his arms where his sleeves had been rolled up. Noctis hadn't been used to seeing him that scattered and disheveled, desperation commanding his actions instead of his usual calm control. His own body had reacted before his mind could even process the situation, fending him from the voretooths even though he had no stamina left. Running all that way with his body still in recovery mode had drained all his energy, yet he still fought like a mad man protecthing him out of the unnerving fear that Ignis might one day end up like those creatures, decayed and anguished, practically pleading for death.

Afterwards, he'd felt close to collapsing, but Ignis' cool fingers against his face had somehow brought him out of his panic-fueled frenzy. There was something stabilizing about the touch, the raw sensation of Ignis' un-gloved hands moving against him in a manner that shouldn't have made his frayed nerves react as they did. It's a memory he'd been quickly to sweep under the rug after, and he's silently grateful that Ignis can't tell that he's staring, a small blessing at the moment as he feels the skin around his cheeks and jaw flare up, something he chalks up to the dry air in Leide. 

The burgers taste euphoric that night as though Noctis hadn't really eaten in a century, and he gorges himself on the meat until more memories resurface. The dried, browned meat hanging liberally from the voretooth's decayed body, maggots crawling on what little was left of their leathery flesh. His stomach clenches at the visual, all the food he'd eaten wedged up suddenly to the base of his throat while every effort is poured into keeping it down. He must have made some kind of sound of displeasure because Ignis' face turns towards him sharply, eyebrows drawn together while he studies him. As if on cue, Noctis forces in another bite, but the bile lingers against his throat, promising he'll have an uneasy sleep that night. 

Prompto and Gladio trade barbs across from them as Gladio recants one of his hunting ventures while Noctis had been recovering. Every night that passes like this fails to convince Noctis that anything had changed, yet when he fixes a steel-eyed gaze into the fire, he can see the warm yellows of Luna's hair fanned across the water as it swallowed her. If he'd chosen death and fate, they'd have finally been together at last. Yet, he'd turned it away to live another day because the thought of leaving his friends behind had been too much to bear. Would Luna hate him for it? Though her voice had reassured him that she knew of how she felt about them, the guilt still gnaws furiously into the back of his mind, leaving him little peace while he tries to focus on the present. The fire blurs the scenery around him in response, further distorting all their faces until Ignis' hand lightly touches his shoulder.

"You should get some rest if you're feeling unwell," he says quietly, "tomorrow, we reach Insomnia. I imagine the journey will take its toll on all of us." 

More like the arrival would make them all uneasy as they stare into the ruins of their home, walk through the crags left of buildings they'd once visited, find all the strewn about corpses, some of them rendered to ash from the fires that towered over the kingdom. His body shudders subtly at the thought before he nods, forgetting briefly that Ignis can't see the action. That's when he quickly corrects himself- 

"I'll hit the caravan. You guys can stick around just so Gladio doesn't sulk." 

A potato chip is tossed at his head at that comment, one Noctis ducks out of the way from before smirking. Afterwards, Noctis tucks himself into the narrow bunk, hands moving around the thin sheets, though the hot hair inside makes it impossible to pass out like he wants to. A thin layer of sweat already pastes his clothes tight to his body while he struggles to force air out of his lungs. His dinner remains precariously lodged at the bottom of his throat while he keeps ruminating over whether or not those undead creatures have anything to do with the fact that he escaped his fate. He can't help feel like he may have jeopardized everyone else's lives with his reckless choice. 

His face turns towards the window next to him to peek out before he catches sight of his reflection -blond hair, solemn blue eyes, white, ghost-like skin. His heart stops for a moment, a surge of adrenaline peaking inside of him as he stares wide-eyed at the face that is not his. His fingers move over his cheek in the glass, shaking as they slide over the would-be planes of her skin. Then the image fades as quickly as it appeared, a blink of his eyes erasing her presence fast while his fingers remain pressed upon the cold glass. In its wake are his own cast-down eyes, watching the quiver of his eyelids and lashes before warm tears well up. He shutters them in fast, squeezed shut behind his flesh, trapped there while Noctis drags the sheet over himself and pretends he can't still here her voice in echo chamber inside his head. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers over and over until he falls into an unrestful sleep, still afraid of what his home will look to him when he finally steps inside, unable to process that it's now a graveyard of people who died just so he could live. Will he ever feel like he's worthy of their sacrifice? 

 

 **010.**

 

The area around him is unveiled slowly, ruinous arches and streets covered in ashen corpses as the unnatural fog clouding his surroundings slowly peels back. Standing in the center are the two tall towers of the Citadel, the most untouched part of Insomnia due to over a century of engineering prowess. Ignis had been told as a child that they would withstand any war, and they had been built to protect the crystal within. True to the tales, they stand dauntless in the night like they themselves are the legs of some arcane god, sent to crush any foes who approach. 

Both his eyes wander up and down the shape, wondering why the familiarity in his heart has been replaced with caution and fear. He should be happy to be home, shouldn't he? Yet this is not the home he left nor any home he could ever find himself staying. That cold reality quickly sinks down to the pit of his stomach as the fog continues to roll on by. Between the Citadel's gates lie broken statues, the marble stained with dried up blood that's browned with age. The area at the base of the statues is covered in more ash and something black and pungent, leaking a little too fresh for his liking.

Ignis continues to venture forward, wondering where the others are -if they had gotten lost amidst their exploration or had found something of interest. His phone remains dormant in his pocket, fingers feeling around to make sure it's there before he moves into the main tower. The fact that the elevator still works is another testament of the skill which went into building this monstrosity, and he knows without thinking where he's going. The most important room in the Citadel. Not the chamber which held the crystal, but the room which held the king.

A part of him almost thinks he'll see Regis' body there, lying crippled upon the throne, but they'd found his corpse back in Gralea. They'd also buried him properly inside Insomnia with a vigil held in his honor. Because of the suddenness of his death, there had been no time to construct a proper tomb, but he assumes Noctis shall take care of that eventually. Right now, they have other priorities, ones that consume Ignis as he pushes forth the large, heavy doors to throne room.

What he doesn't expect to find is the blaring sunlight filtered through the wrecked holes in the wall and large windows, covering the entire room in an ethereal golden glow. Sylleblossoms rain from the ceiling, petals breaking wildly from their stems and falling all across the floor. There are also large banners with Noctis' name on it, announcing him as the 114th King of Lucis.

For a moment, Ignis thinks he's late to some ceremony he hadn't even known would take place, yet here it is unfolding before him. And on the throne sits an older Noctis, hair curled around the ends of his strong jaw, his body clad in a refined and tailored suit. His blue eyes look tired yet content when they find him, and Luna sits poised next to him in her beautiful wedding gown, the one they'd seen on display Altissia. It's even more stunning on her body, the endless flow of white fabric that spills across her seat, glittering jewels adorned on her hair. Both King and Queen smile at him, and Ignis feels his heart chest ache with some forlorn sensation he can't identify. He wants to be happy, but the sense of how fragile this future is, the unlikeliness that such things shall come to pass… 

Everything feels so fractured and brittle, falling apart before his eyes as Noctis' eyes starts to leak black drops from the corners. Long, spider-like hands reach out from beneath and behind the throne, claws puncturing into the king's royal garb as more of that black liquid starts to flow from freshly opened wounds. Luna's entire body dissolves into an amorphous gelatin creature, crawling over her dress and shrieking as the voretooths did -with a thousand voices of anguish echoing with it. 

The sight rips the breath right out of his lungs, making his chest burn even harder the more the happy scene grows distorted, and Ignis can't bear to watch Noctis being torn apart, punctured through the chest as he screams along with those distressed voices. Without thinking, Ignis cups his hands over his ears, desperate to drown out the sound, but he can still hear them right until he shoots up into a sitting position in his bunk, breathing fast and hard. 

Darkness is all that unfolds around him in the morning, unable to see anything anymore and only treated to his own labored breaths while he peels his shirt from his skin to air it out. There's thick sweat dripping from his forehead and gathered along his limbs, leaving him in desperate need of a bath. His hand is already darting around to find his cane and his glasses, moving around and trying to get a sense of what time it is. He can hear Noctis' breaths across from him, stable and quiet. Gladio snores more loudly above, the sound a welcomed distraction that drowns out whatever noises he himself is making. The only one he does pick up shifting is Prompto. 

"You okay?" the blond mumbles, voice tinged with sleepiness. 

It's then that Ignis thinks better than to disturb everyone else by hobbling to the bathroom. He doesn't want to rouse them all at this hour -whatever hour it happens to be. 

"Yes, just a bit of indigestion." 

A lie clearly, and he has a feeling Prompto knows as well. Yet his friend doesn't pursue any line of questioning. Instead, he quietly climbs out of his bunk and pads around the caravan. His footsteps provide no hint as to what he's doing, leaving Ignis to worry a bit until they stop right next to the bunk. That's when a cup of water is nudged into his hand followed by a small pill bottle. 

"If you wanna talk, we can go outside for a bit." 

The bottle is mostly like the stomach meds Prompto is more prone to taking than the rest of them. He always has been particularly sensitive with certain foods. Even though he has no need for it, Ignis swallows the pills down anyway to give Prompto some semblance of reassurance. 

"Thank you. I may take you up on that some other night." 

A night that will most likely never come. He really doesn't want to worry Prompto or anyone else with talk of strange nightmares, especially when he's far from the only one having them. He's seen the other three in various states of unrest, and they'd always dealt with it just as discreetly. 

Once Prompto is secure in his own bed once more, he has to feign sleep himself for what feels like a lifetime as he stares up into nothingness. It makes him long for the comfort of the night sky, the moon's light peeking through the window, the stars dancing in the distance. What he wouldn't give to see that sight once more, though his mind takes him back to just a few months ago when he and Noctis had been walking around Duscae with one another. The two of them had paused to watch the stars as Ignis pointed out a few of note while the prince idly nodded beside him. He hadn't been sure if Noctis had been listening, but he'd been content just to watch the reflection of those stars painted vividly on Noctis' bright eyes. The blue color had swallowed up the entire starscape, and he had looked other-wordly and unnatural, like a being that had no business walking amongst them. Yet, here he is now for one reason or another, and the three of them have to make sure he reaches Insomnia safely.

They end up leaving at dawn's first light, the sun's rays bristling against Ignis' eyelids while he helps to carry their supplies to the trucks. Once everything is secured and stowed away, they take off on a bumpy road through Leide, and the uncharacteristic silence offers a 'calm before the storm' sentiment that stirs Ignis' unease once more. The dreams are still latched onto his mind, stubbornly refusing to be ignored even when he struggles to reassure himself that they can handle whatever awaits them. They've already been through great trials together. They've taken down gods and whole empires, yet the sight of those onyx tears sliding through Noctis' cheeks fills him with a shudder of revulsion that he struggles to mitigate. Next to him, Noctis stirs from the action, and he can tell without having to look at all, that the prince is fixing him with a strange look.

"Can't believe you're cold in this weather," he comments and makes a move to shut off the air. 

To his surprise, Ignis manages to stop Noctis' fingers before he can, unsure how he even knew where they were. 

"It was just an isolated chill. No need to make everyone else sweat over it." 

"Oh yeah, I get those all the time!" Prompto adds, and he can hear him trying to poke his head through the small window separating the back of the truck from the front. "How long we have left anyway?" 

"Just pulling into Hammerhead right now then it's a straight shot there," Noctis replies. 

It's a welcomed distraction as Ignis listens to Prompto moon over Cindy and invite her to come to Insomnia when it's all up and running again. Gladio is busy buying some food for them at the convenient store while Noctis treads too far for him to hear. His characteristic silence shouldn't be bothersome, but the area is still populated with all sorts of wild animals on the prowl. Not to mention, they could very well run into more of those undead creatures who had been moving about easily even in the daylight. Ignis and the other hunters couldn't ascertain why, determining the cause to be inconclusive. Something seemed to have bitten into them and infected them without a particular modus operandi in mind, at least not one that Ignis could gauge thus far. Perhaps, it had just been an unfortunate side effect from Niflheim's countless experiments, one that they hadn't even considered. If so, would that have even stopped them? 

Their hubris had only lead them blindly down a path to their own destruction, but Noctis' victory had at least stymied the onslaught of daemons and also brought back regular day and night cycles. Ignis had feared that their world would lose all its light and that the daemons would eventually overwhelm the human population and become the new dominant species. Even now, he hasn't quite set his mind at ease as to whether or not that still remains a possibility. There are numerous threads left hanging that need to be tied up quickly, and they've already taken too long to recover.  Had he his sight, he's sure he could have already done so much more than he has already, and he has to stamp down the resurgent feeling of inadequacy as he struggles to hang the gasoline pump where it goes. The simple act of movement will never feel like second nature to him again, forcing himself to constantly execute even the slightest shift of his arms with deliberate accuracy to avoid bumping into anything. 

When Noctis finally reappears in his hearing-range, Ignis catches the faint sound of his crunching, so much more boisterous than he'd ever noticed. It's all he can concentrate as each clench of his teeth brings forth a deluge of wreckage wrought from each chip. At any other point, it would have perhaps annoyed him, but right now, it's the only marker that Noctis is even alive in all this darkness surrounding his vision. He knows he's real because his senses are reacting to his presence and interpreting the stimulation caused by his movements, and the wind carries the fresh smell of generic shampoo upwind mixed with an aroma that's so keenly and unmistakably his. 

Then the chewing stops, and Noctis crumples up the bag, presumably tossing it in the trash.

"He shoots aaaaaaand," Prompto shouts from a few meters away, "It's a miss!" 

"I'm not picking that up," Noctis grumbles, most likely embarrassed about his failure.

Ignis can't help but chuckle as he taps his sunglasses. "I'm afraid you're on your own there." 

That's enough to goad Noctis into picking up the bag, knowing he'd just about twisted his arm with the reminder of his own current state. A low blow naturally, but Ignis never said he was above such tactics if it keeps Noctis from being a slob in public. 

"You have a reputation to maintain as king now. We can't have you being known as a litter-bug." 

Still grumbling, Noctis replies, "Yeah, yeah, I'm on it. Trash in the bin. You can all stop judging me now." 

"Never," Prompto tells him with a laugh.

The routine breaks some of the tension that had amassed between them since yesterday and manages to lift their spirits enough for them to make the last stretch of their journey. As their car passes through the entrance of the city limits where the guard stations used to sit, Prompto helplfully describes the scene as 'post-apocalyptic', pointing out the numerous battered and broken machines and the remains of crushed MTs. Several ground infantry uniforms are also strewn about in various positions of distress, the bodies beneath long-gone. There are many ash-rendered bones, most of them belonging to those of civilians. Ignis can only smell the rotting stench that fills the air as though they're driving through a burning landfill, and every inhale brings with a wave of fresh tears to this eyes, partly from grief and partly from the potency of decay in the air. 

The immediate area around the Citadel is far less volatile, the air just a modicum crisper and cleaner as they're finally forced to disembark. The rubble forbids them from driving any further, leaving them to traipse through the wreckage on foot while the howling wind tosses their hair and clothes about. Even without being able to see anything, Ignis can somehow map out the extent of the destruction as he steps over uneven roads and scrapes his knee across shattered statues. There are also perilous branches and vines spread from trees that hadn't been pruned or looked after in ages, allowed to grow out into an almost parasitic entity in itself, and the places where the fountains used to flow peacefully in the gardens are now caked in crud and sewage. 

"How bad is it?" he finally deigns to ask, counting on the footsteps of his friends to guide him through. 

"Some of it's salvageable...," Gladio answers, "a couple of buildings here and there. The Citadel is still mostly standing if we need a place to crash." 

If Noctis objects to that at all, he makes no protest, only falling in line with the three of them. Once they reach the gates of the Citadel, an eerie silence descends upon them as though they've all suddenly remembered to mourn the road of the fallen that they trampled over to get here. Memories of his own dream crawl through Ignis' mind, the images unfolding like a film reel as he remembers exactly how the Citadel had looked when he stepped through. The walkway towards the towers is bereft of any obstacles, walking along the path easily yet still wary until they're indoors at last. 

Gladio breaks the silence first as his powerful steps guide them inside, the most resolute out of the four of them. 

"It's almost like we never left. Still remember standing here with the king..." 

Their last shared memory of Insomnia before they'd gotten into the Regalia and rode away. Noctis must be taking it the hardest as this had been his home since he was born. It had been a home to himself too -more so than his family's home. It's difficult to deny the loss when they stand here in the middle of a city once bustling with so much life. Never will he feel the warm, greeting licks of their family dog, never will he smell his own mother's cooking wafting from the kitchen, never will he watch his father carefully press his uniform. 

The realization catches him off-guard, twisting more tears loose, ones the glasses hide away, and he assumes from the sniffles emanating from Prompto's direction that he's hardly the only one. Still, they venture forward into the belly of the beast, hearing the staccato of their heels across floors that used to be buffed and immaculate once not too long ago. Now, the surface is worn down, degraded with dust and scuffles, bullet holes, streaks of ash. Even through the soles of his shoes, Ignis can feel the change, and he struggles to keep going. 

The fact that the elevator still works comes as no surprise as Ignis recalls his dream, the long journey upwards and the scene that laid behind its sliding doors. The smell of flowers doesn't permeate his senses as he steps off, and there is no overpowering light pressed into his face, only picking up the cool wind from where there are undoubtedly cracks and crevices in the walls. Again,he asks-

"How bad is it?" 

To his surprise, Noctis answers him as he brushes past his figure, his steps growing faint while he presumably marches towards the throne. "Mostly like how I remember..." 

The forlorn tone those words are spoken with don't escape Ignis' notice as he stares in the direction of where Noctis' voice came from. His mind rewinds though the image of him sitting regal on his throne, poised and proud, his austere features fixated on him just before large, spindly black spider arms had punctured their way through him, cutting through the meat of his body with a sickening squelching sound that Ignis can't erase from his thoughts. It replays over and over as the sense of foreboding arises, and he feels Gladio's large fingers on his upper arm, trying to usher him away.

"Let's give him a bit of privacy," the older man whispers, and Ignis nods in spite of his overwhelming unease.

His legs feel lethargic and unwilling as he drags them out of the throne room, and his heart starts to pump like a drum beat, relentless and overpowering as the sound seems to pulse throughout his body. Again, he sees fragmented images of black fluid leaking out of Noctis' skin, hair, and lips, the tar-like substance hanging in strings as it dribbles down from the throne. Noctis' eyes turn amber and sickly, gracing him with an unnatural stare, and he tries hard to convince himself it's all his own imagination. Prompto and Gladio walk on ahead to examine the other rooms, poking through doors and picking through debris while Ignis feels his body flare up from the inside.

Then his throat closes in fast, a lump wedged where he tries to swallow while his fingers quake and touch the skin, and still, there is Noctis on the throne, an ugly laugh spilled from his lips, more spider legs breaking through the surface of his skin until his body ceases to be recognizable. 

_'Something is wrong. Something is **wrong** '_, his mind echoes without relent before he turns back towards the throne room.

He moves lightning-quick, the heavy doors all but pushed open, and it feels as though the past and present collide when he can _see_. His dream is superimposed over reality, following the same steps, moving through the room without any effort. One of his hands grabs a knife by his side, and he throws it against the creature emerging from the back of the throne, severing its arm in two. More of them crawl out, and he hears Noctis' gasp as he shies away from the throne completely. The sound of their legs rapidly crawling inspires a rough bout of nausea, especially when whatever 'vision' he's looking with now shows him the large membranous sac behind the throne. The tissues are so transparent that he can see the black creatures gestating inside, twitching with eagerness to tear their way out.

"How did you know that was there?" Noctis asks as he reaches his side. 

Though Ignis can see their foes, Noctis' image does not show up at all, vanished behind a black curtain. However, he can tell without looking that he's unharmed which brings him some relief. 

"I don't know... truthfully, but the Marshal had said there would be some residual daemons hiding in Insomnia." 

While the hunters had made every effort to exterminate all that they'd come across, many still remain hidden and desperate to survive. It's easy to see how these could have been untouched. It's not as though the hunters would have wanted to disturb the throne room before Noctis even got the chance to look at it. 

His whole body reacts when he feels Noctis' fingers suddenly move around his forearm, a simple touch that rips the breath right out of his lungs and makes his mind grow fuzzed and disoriented. 

"Thanks," the prince whispers before his voice cracks into a hoarse chuckle, "don't know what I'd do without you sometimes, Ignis."

Words more sincere than any he'd ever spoken to him -words that Ignis doesn't know if he wants to or needs to hear right now. He can only compute the sudden strokes of heat bursting along the inside of his arm flesh, the way his palm grows damp around his knives, and the fact that his senses suddenly become overly attuned to Noctis' scent. It leaves him adrift from any reality, and he recognizes shades of  some of his own reactions while others elude him completely. 

Fortunately, Gladio and Prompto catch up to them quickly enough to keep him from drowning in the complexities of his own emotions at the moment before he readies his knives. Prompto launches himself to round up as many of the daemons as he can, firing at their bodies and unsettling them from the egg sac. A few more on the roof are shot to the ground with bullets. 

Desperate not to ruin the throne room, the four of them avoiding using magic and instead resort to their weapons to dislodge and dismember them. The acrid smell arising from their pierced bodies is almost suffocating, but Ignis doesn't give himself enough time to stop and breathe any of it in. His body continues instead to move with frantic unease, knives dissolving into a lance as he slams his way down two more of the spider-like creatures. 

Noctis appears right behind him to grab the spear and chuck it like a javelin towards one by the window. The last of them is pierced through by Gladio's great sword, the sound of it cutting through the creature's thorax, driving another fresh wave of revulsion through him. He flings off the remaining bits of guts and entrails from his knives, and that's when Ignis notices his vision has darkened once more as though the permanent dusk has rolled through what brief light there was. He still can't explain it, not even to himself, except the only time he can remember it happening before had been while fighting Ardyn in Zegnautus Keep. He had presumed it was only a fluke or some sort of hallucination from all the strenuous effort put into taking the chancellor down. Not once did he conclude it to be any sort of magic, and he's still unwilling to accept that possibility now. 

The rule of threes then. If it happens a third time, he'll know it's no meaningless coincidence, but for now, he'll remain wary of whatever is going on, afraid to cave into wishful thinking. He isn't even sure what purpose it would serve to have sporadic vision of that sort, especially when it seems to be randomly selective of what he's seeing. Furthermore, the fact that he'd dreamed of what happened the evening before isn't lost on him, leaving an ill-taste in his mouth, unaided by the foul redolence of the creatures' bodies as they begin decomposing. 

For the sake of safety, they end up staying in a hotel that still remains erect after the attacks. It's close enough to the Citadel that they can observe its massive towers yet far enough that they don't have to fear the nesting creatures living there. The floor had been swept clean by Gladio's surveillance, and Prompto had managed to figure out which key card would open the room. Aside from layers upon layers of dust in the suite, most of it seems untouched, but the punctuated silence still continues to unnerve all of them. 

A game of cards doesn't ease that feeling one bit as their usual barbs are absent from the conversation. Instead, Gladio takes charge of already mapping out their next phase.

"Altissia's still in the recovery process after Leviathan's attack, so we can't exactly contact them, but the Marshal has a good relationship with the remaining Crownsguard and hunters. He can conscript enough good men and women to sweep the cities. Then we can get some engineers from Lestallum to start helping rebuild." 

"Where are we even going to get the money for all that?" Noctis questions, "All our accounts were wiped clean with the destruction. What gil we did have went to my recovery after the fight..." 

The cogs in Ignis' mind start to turn before he recalls some of the briefings he had with King Regis prior to the trip. Of course, at the time, he hadn't known that the king would be preparing for an all-out war.

"The king had me open several accounts for Noct in Accordo and transfer a sizable amount of funds only to be accessed once Noct reached Altissia for the wedding. I presumed they were to help pay for wedding expenses..." How naive a thought. He feels foolish for having believed that the king's intentions were so simple back then. "Altissia may be destroyed, but the rest of Accordo remains operational with several settlements. They should have records of the transfer. The amount was disclosed to me as well as all the codes to access the account."

Noctis is the first to react, shooting up to stand, and he can only imagine the rancor that's overtaken his expression.

"You're telling us this now?! Where was this money before?"

"As I said, I was under orders from the King not to touch those funds until we reached Altissia. I would have had to go to the bank personally to access those funds. Hence why we could not use them before. King Regis never expected us to be waylaid in Galdin Quay." 

He can hear the curse that wants to spill from the prince's lips as he hovers close, practically in his face. His eyes still want to make out the anger in Noctis' gaze, only having the fainest memory of the enraged blue of his irises the few times he'd seen the prince lose control. 

"So how much are we talking about here?" 

"Ten million. Hardly enough to rebuild an entire city, but we can begin the process... the rest will have to be sought out with donations. The most important part is arranging your coronation." 

The symbolic value of such a move would have its merits in future diplomatic ventures. The world is still awaiting its symbol of hope with the loss of the oracle and no other major ruler to take the lead. They need to build upon the narrative that Noctis will not only unite them all in peace but will also protect them. It's the only way they can raise enough donations and assistance to restore Insomnia. He will also need a loyal army in the near future as the four of them alone can only do so much. The thoughts start to unfold in his mind as he begins to piece it together.

"I guess Accordo's the next stop," Gladio declares.


	3. Chapter 3

**011.**

 

The journey to Accordo ended up being carried out rather swiftly with Noctis and Ignis present to sign off on the funds. With the bank of Lucis destroyed, they could only take out the cash in straight up gil that they had a hard time carrying out in cases. Thankfully, Aranea had provided an airlift to fly them to and back with little fuss, and they'd only seen Altissia from afar, peering at the ruins through a side window while recalling all the times they'd floated along on the city's endless canals. Noctis remembers how elated he'd felt upon arrival, the sheer majesty of it all. He'd never seen a more beautiful city, delighting on all the architectural marvels and smelling the crisp scent of the sea at every corner. All the adventures they had there... and to think it had all been tarnished by the sacrifices that punctuated the end of their vacation. 

Between Luna's death and Ignis' loss of sight, Noctis can never look at the city the same way. The worst memories creep upon the best ones, devouring them whole until nothing remains except the sight of Luna's crumpled body and the tears that stained her eyes as she collided with the ground. He still wishes he could have held her one last time and said his proper goodbye. Only his past hallucinations had offered any illusion of closure, showing him a time where they could have lived happily as King and Queen, one possibility in many had he just arrived their faster to aid her -if Insomnia hadn't fallen and they had simply gotten married.

Even now, he's not sure how the marriage would have fared- if they would have gradually fallen for one another and had children or if maybe he would have ultimately disappointed her. If he would have never amounted to the man she thought he'd be. If he would have remained completely out of his element with her. The thought of not knowing hurts more than the possibility of being a disappointment, never having really come to terms with the loss. He'd spent so long trying to articulate his own feelings for her to himself that he never bothered to consider what it'd be like to lose her completely. He still isn't sure if it could be called love or if it was just a fantasy built in his head for years from traded passages in their journal, if he had been swept up by the whole idea of being with someone that he never really stopped to consider what he'd actually say when he saw her. He'd never talked to her about his hopes and dreams, never confided his fears and anxieties. He only ever wanted her to see the best side of himself.

At some point all the childish candidness of his earlier letters had become the reserve and self-conscious words of a teenager who withheld so much because he didn't want her to bear witness to all the parts he was starting to hate about himself and the life unfolding around him. When he wrote of his father, it was brief and non-committal. When he wrote of his friends, the pictures spoke more than the actual text. When he wrote of himself, it was always a reassurance that he was fine and in good spirits. He didn't want to give her more things to worry about and also felt as though it was petty to complain when she was in captivity. He doubts he was the only one making an effort to conceal his true emotions as her letters were always hopeful prayers and hymns, sometimes copied poems from arcane texts. She also wrote often that she missed him, words that always made his chest feel flush in the way he imagined a crush would feel like. 

He misses her too, and that's a feeling he's still wrangling with when he's haunted by his failure to protect her or free her from captivity -to accept that he hadn't done a single thing for her in all these years. Now, guilt is all that lingers when he thinks of her and the constant thought that perhaps he should have accepted death when he'd gone into that coma. He almost wishes sometimes he had as it's difficult carrying through like this, trying to figure out how to put together his kingdom and how to rebuild the world. Hadn't he promised Prompto that they'd bring peace together? Yet those feel like empty words right now as he sits next to the window and tries to unclamp the violently tight vice around his heart while he stares at the extent of ruin Niflheim had left across the land. How is he supposed to fix all of that? 

Prompto ends up stirring next to him as they approach the landing pad on one of the government building rooftops. He had been napping heavily on his shoulder up until then, passed out in a way that Noctis wanted to be to avoid the mess of thoughts scattered through his mind at the moment.

"Was a shorter trip than I thought. Barely got much shut-eye." 

"And here I thought you would have been the first one asking for a barf bag," Noctis teases if only to divert his attention fast and not give away the fact that he'd spent the entire trip pretty much brooding. He doubts it's as effective as he wants it to be since Prompto's always been fairly perceptive when it comes to him, but his friend does manage to look mock-offended.

"That only happened that one time while I was on a chocobo!" 

"Yeah, only 'cause you ordered the vegetarian special at that cafe. Goes to show you that vegetables are a blight on humanity." 

He hears Ignis' quiet snort of disapproval from behind their seats. "Had they used fresher ingredients, it would not have had that effect." 

"It was totally food poisoning!" Prompto adds, and Noctis rolls his eyes dramatically.

At least, the exchange serves to keep them all at ease as they arrive once more in Insomnia. From their vantage point on the rooftop, they can spot swarths of people moving through the streets and inspecting the ruins. The Marshal greets them with Monica to present his report on their initial assessment just as they step out of the air transport. 

"We've found a dense daemon population in the eastern sectors of the city, so that's currently barricaded off. We'll have to await more back-up. Right now, we're securing the citadel and the areas around it so you can stay there." 

"...right," is Noctis' intelligent response to that, unsure what else to say. His body still a bit groggy and disoriented from the lack of rest on the flight and the fact that so many predicaments are being dumped on his lap at once. He always thought he'd have more time before he'd have to be king and that there would be more people around to help and support him. The sudden weight of responsibility pressed into his shoulders had grown so daunting in the past few days alone.

Fortunately, Ignis steps in to speak for him, "We'll take the prince to the Citadel and begin the necessary preparations for the coronation. Once a date is selected, I'll be sure to issue a mass press release on the matter and encourage visitors from outside to attend." 

A sigh of relief pours loose from his lips as Noctis' shoulders visibly sag, unsure what the coronation even entails. He'd never seen one before, and he's certain he'll be expected to deliver a speech. Who would even crown him at this point? None of his father's advisers had lived save for Cor, and he doubts he'd be eager to take part in the ceremony, preferring to remain low-key and take care of security. That leaves him with the overwhelming task of having to put it all together -and for what? It's all superficial pomp. He still doesn't think he's earned the right to be called king or that he belongs on the throne any more than anyone else. Just because he'd been chosen by the gods and because of his last name... but there are more qualified leaders out there who don't flinch when speaking in public, who can pull off those ceremonial garbs, who don't second guess all their choices and decisions. 

"I'll work with him," Ignis continues, placing a solid, warm hand on his back, one that drags Noctis out of the deluge of worries chaotically swimming around in his mind. The last thing he wants to do is sit down and deal with it, but he can't leave it to Ignis alone.

A fresh pang of guilt stabs right through him when he spots the faded scars on Ignis' face from his periphery. It's too much for him to carry out own his own, and he would do so without being asked simply because that's who Ignis is. Though he's lectured and nagged him in the past, it's never been done with a single hint of malice or resentment. He had always seemed to earnestly want to help and support him, not out of duty alone but because they'd grown up in the Citadel for years as something close to family. Almost brothers, yet... that definition blurs often into other complicated thoughts. He still hadn't forgotten the way his own body reacted when Ignis' fingers had touched his face after the attack by the undead voretooths. The adrenaline had warped such a simple and casual gesture into something alarmingly stimulating, and just thinking about now makes him abruptly wrench back from their current contact and turn away, fingers moving to stroke over the back of his neck where heat has fused its way into the surface of his skin. Considering he'd just been moping over Luna almost an hour ago, he almost feels disturbed by the direction of his thoughts. 

The rest of the day gives them all time to settle as Noctis walks around the Citadel once more, this time with less fear of being attacked. His footsteps strike the ground carefully, behaving as though he's wading through the water and trying not to startle the fish inside, but his heart beats madly as he watches his reflection in some of the metal doors and marble walls. He looks more bedraggled than he remembers, as though he hasn't slept in ten lifetimes, and his focus refuses to return even as Ignis signals they should talk. Gladio and Prompto insist on doing another thorough check up of the Citadel while Noctis finds one of the meeting rooms his father used to sit inside with his council members. 

He uses the small chamber because the larger ones are full of blood and decayed remains still from what the Marshal had told him. He doesn't want to face them yet, instead sinking down heavily into one of the chairs that feel too large for his body still. As a child, he used to avoid these rooms, instead lingering on the outside, waiting to catch a glimpse of his father as he came out of them. Sometimes, he'd hide behind the decorative plants to avoid looking like he was spying, and one time, his father had been in a meeting so long that he'd fallen asleep right outside. It had been Ignis who carried him on his back, and he remembers waking up and drooling on the older boy's shoulder rather liberally. Ignis hasn't yet let him forget that. 

He had meant what he told him the other day. He really would be lost without him and Prompto and Gladio. Though at the time, he'd only been thinking of Ignis when he said it, a fact that still draws forth some embarrassment, unused to ever blurting out blunt sentiments like that, but something in Ignis' fear and anguished expression told him that he really needed to hear it. 

His thoughts are pulled back towards the room's other occupant when he hears Ignis break through the uncomfortable silence. "We'll have to pave a route for people to arrive at the Citadel. We can hold the ceremony in the courtyard rather than stuffing them all into the throne room." 

It would feel too claustrophobic. There's so little air circulating through here nowadays which has less to do with the lack of power and air-conditioning and more to do with the oppressive weight of the battle that had taken place here over a year ago. 

"Security will be managed by the Marshal. I can have a band flown in from Accordo and arrange decorations. I was thinking sylleblossoms from Tenebrae..." 

A field of sylleblossoms. Just like the dream he had while in his coma. The scent of them had been so thick that he felt he could taste the flower in the back of his throat and the pit of his stomach just from inhaling. 

"And we have your suit from when you were to present yourself at Altissia," Ignis continues, "I'll wash and iron it for you, and I imagine something will have to be done about your hair." 

"What's wrong with my hair?" Noctis interrupts, not wanting to address the matter of flowers or his wedding outfit. The less he thinks about it, the less likely he is to breakdown in front of his friend, already feeling his fingers start to shake at the tips.

As if on cue, Ignis' hand reaches out to touch the sloppy stands at the nape of his neck, moving along the little curls that had formed there from sweating so much in the heat. He feels the press of his ungloved hands tease the same area where he'd been feeling uncomfortably sensitive earlier, and it's all too much at once. The coronation. The failed wedding. _Luna_. The flowers. Ignis' hands always twisting his thoughts the wrong way. 

His whole body jerks away this time, chair loudly scraping across the ground and leaving scuff marks that Ignis would have frowned out if he could see them, but he obviously can't. There's a lot he can't see, and Noctis hates the guilt compounding inside of him, eating away at his fractured thoughts. His whole body ends up shaking as he cups his face with his hands in a vain effort to stop the flow of tears. The warm drops slip through his fingers, and it's the first time he's released any emotion since he arrived in this place, having filed it all away for the past few months. He just simply hadn't wanted to think about it.

"Noct..." Ignis whispers softly, and his fingers seek the crown of his hair this time, moving over the strands in a placating and very obviously fraternal gesture. There's obviously nothing intimate meant by it, and Noctis stamps down fast at the biting revulsion he feels at himself. "I know... it will be difficult. All these years, we've prepared this day. I never thought it would come under these circumstances." 

Noctis never thought so either because it meant that his father wouldn't be there to watch him become king. 

"You said you don't know what you would do without me ...yet it is a sentiment I contemplated when you'd been in a coma." It's Ignis' turn to grow shaky and uncertain, watching the older man's expression shift to something forlorn and weary. He feels Ignis' hand then drift to his face, almost as though he's trying to map his expression and reaction while he speaks. "Had you not survived, who would I have served, and what would I have done? I have yet to find the answer." 

His fingertips land on Noctis' lips and eyelids, resting there very gently before he continues, "We all place an undue burden on you by asking you to be our king, but at the same time, I don't know anyone else I could follow with the same amount of conviction, Noct." 

There's a sincerity and a gentleness to his expression that Noctis is unused to seeing, and he has to wonder if Ignis really believes in him. He knows their journey had all brought them closer until they shared a bond far thicker than blood, but he still has trouble accepting himself as worthy. He wants to believe with every fiber of his being that he is and that he warrants this much trust from his friend. 

Unable to say anything without getting too choked up, he merely nods in response and lets Ignis feel the gesture through his touch. His own hand then comes to rest against the back of one of Ignis', holding it there and smelling the sweet curl of vanilla creamer from the coffee Ignis had prepared earlier. It's enough to calm him, inhaling something earthy behind it that he'd never noticed before, a scent that he's sure belongs to Ignis alone because he can't recognize it from elsewhere. 

"I hope you remain this placated when I tell you you will have to deliver a speech. I know it's not your most favorite activity in the world, but we can rehearse." 

His stomach does drop to the bottom of his shoes at those words, but it's not as though he hadn't been expecting it. It's just difficult to be all that motivated at the moment, especially when everyone will be surrounded by the dredges of the old kingdom. But there isn't really anyone else stepping up to take command, and he can't spend forever being afraid of facing his destiny -whatever that may be at this point. The whole world is counting on him, and he's sick of letting people down. He doesn't want to fail them like he did his father and Luna. 

"Fine, but I want to write it myself. In my own words. I have a feeling they'd all know if I didn't." And it wouldn't seem as sincere. He knows his father used to give his own speeches all the time, but he was a far better orator than himself. He always stumbles over his own words and flubs names, important details, by contrast. 

"At least, allow me to proofread. No one is going to want to follow a king with a poor mastery of basic grammar." 

He can't help nudging Ignis at those words, though there's a noted absence of warmth when the older man's hands move away from his face, leaving the air to brush across his empty cheeks. It's hard to fixate on anything else but that for the rest of the meeting, unable to keep his eyes from occasionally flicking towards Ignis' hands as they move as though caught in an elaborate dance. Hopefully, that's all this will end up being -just an idle fixation. It draws attention to the fact that he doesn't exactly how Ignis plans on reading his speech when he can't exactly see, but he doesn't want to bring that up at all. It's difficult enough as it is trying to navigate around Ignis' injury and not wanting to nail in the point that there's a lot Ignis won't be able to do for him any longer -a lot that he will have to count on himself for. That's been one of the most difficult realities to adjust to, but he's not left with much of a choice. He's growing old faster than he can control, and the world around him has been evolving along with him. The new era should be one of peace and not the conquest and domination that proceeded it the past few decades.

With that in mind, he grabs a pen and listens to it scratch furiously against the paper as he starts to write. It takes a few more days to perfect his words in between traversing the city ruins to deal with the occasional daemon attack. Special lamps are hung everywhere imaginable to help ward off the creatures and prepare for the coronation as the hunters complete their final sweep. 

When the big day finally arrives, Noctis finds himself sweating harshly beneath the thick material of his father's cape, his fingers closing around the chains of it as if to keep himself from suffocating with it. His hair and forehead remain damp while Ignis dabs over it with a handkerchief and tries to smooth the wayward strands down. Iris had trimmed the shaggy ends and had applied enough gel on it to mitigate the natural messiness it tended to fluff up into, though he hardly looks like himself in his reflection. He sees his sallow eyes, the dark circles that started to form from all his unrest, and his face had thinned a bit, some of the residual childhood chubbiness of his cheeks receding into harsher angles. The royal raiment makes him all the more unrecognizable, never having pictured a day where he'd start to resemble his father so thoroughly, though the two of them couldn't be any further in personality.

The last piece is the ring which he hadn't put back on since they left Gralea. Ignis hands it to him in an ornate box before stepping back as to give him some privacy with it, and Noctis still recalls the first time he slid it onto his fingers, the anguished screams in his ears, the rippling pain that ravaged his body, the sensation of choking on his own breath as some liquid expanded through his lungs. 

Yet today, he's not afraid nor is he hesitant, having already wasted enough time second-guessing himself. Without question, the ring belongs on him, and he offers his friends a resolute expression before he slips it on. Like before, he feels his senses assaulted with fervent screams, and his body trembles and nearly crumples over, gritting his teeth to force down the sound that wants to bubble out. His friends gather around him in concern, but he waves his hand to let them know he's all right. 

He's still shaking when he straightens to his full height, and the cape on his shoulders feels heavier than ever as he turns towards the entrance to the Citadel. Outside those doors, uproarious crowds have flocked into the courtyard, a number far into the thousands according to the Marshal. Several of the surviving Kingsglaive and Crownsguard members had returned to help secure the area, many who have been waiting all this time for their new king and had feared he had fallen long ago. 

Their voices filter through the door, amplifying Noctis' anxiousness as he twists his fingers along the hem of his shirt and tries to wipe off some of the sweat from his palms. Prompto steps out first to take his spot on the makeshift stage that had been built for the occasion while Gladio follows, carrying the crown on a pillow in his hand, having been chosen unanimously to be the one to place it on him as the Amicitia had served as the shields of the Lucian kings for centuries. There was no one closer to the line of the kings than his family. 

Ignis ends up lingering behind, dressed like the other two in his formal Crownsguard uniform, leaving a more regal impression than himself. Formal clothing has always suited him better, and sometimes Noctis thinks it would make more sense were their situations reversed. His friend wouldn't be nervous at all, would stand with his head high and his shoulders poised, words delivered without error, his voice never quivering nor stumbling. He envies that ability of his to remain so tranquil even in the worst of situations, having only ever seen him surrender to frustration once. Even so, his outburst still had been reserved compared to his own. 

Gloved hands rise to move over the front of his suit, idly checking to make sure all buttons are secured, an innocent action that makes Noctis forget to breathe for a few seconds. His body seemingly whirls in place, a swirl of colors and images erupting around him, and Ignis' fingers linger on the bottom of his shirt while the older man tips his head downwards, expression unreadable. The quiet seemingly expands between them like a slowly growing balloon that threatens to burst, and Noctis' gaze flickers all over the place, doing whatever it can to avoid meeting Ignis' eyes and his hands - _his mouth._ He hates the punctuated cradle of warmth at the pit of his stomach, the way his body finds no calm in these moments when they once used to. This is not a normal reaction to someone who's been a brother to him for as long as Noctis can remember, and he's glad for the distraction past the doors.

It makes it easier to break through the moment, cancel out whatever words are on the tip of his own as he reaches for the handle.

"Guess it's now or never," he says lightly, and he spots Ignis' nodding in his peripheral. 

"As we rehearsed. You will do well, Noct." 

Ignis' voice sounds so soft and sincere, and his ears feel too hyper-vigilant to the timbre of it, his heart echoing his thoughts. 

"You don't have to worry about me," Noctis tries to reassure -more to himself than Ignis, and he hears the responding words that give him all the confidence in the world to carry onward.

"I'm not." 

Both doors are pushed open, and the two of them are met with cries and cheers, clapping hands, children delighting in the moment. Noctis is almost taken aback, staring up skyward where balloons are released, floating towards the clouds. Several people wave stems of sylleblossoms before tossing them to the stage while others reach out for his touch. He immediately caves in and reaches out to brush hands with strangers, faces he's never seen, voices he's never heard. The whole experience feels too surreal, and he can no longer even hear his heart beat in the roar of the crowd.

Had they really shown up to give him his support? He's still trying to convince himself he even deserves it, but with this many people standing at his side, he knows he can't go on questioning his own right to rule. 

_They need someone they can place their hope in._

Ignis' words rewind through his head as he finally takes shaky steps to the podium, and he tries to control the tremor that runs through his fingers as he stares down at the speech he and Ignis had worked on. His father's name is on the stationery they used, the words scrawled neatly in a formal cursive font, and all he can hope while staring at it is that he'll make his father proud. With that thought, he parts his lips and begins to talk, trying desperately to control his wavering voice and focus on the words in front of him as they grow more indecipherable. Tears blur his sight, distorting everything, and ultimately, he has no choice but to abandon all that he'd written.  

"I know I'm not your chosen king...," he starts, eyes blurring even further as he keeps staring more intensely at his father's name in the stationary than at the words he scribbled, "and I'm definitely not my father. I can never be like him or any of the kings before me. I'm not the oracle either, and I'm no hero or savior. I've screwed up along the way, failed countless people, let them die when I could have done more... but I don't want to live with any more regrets." Noctis pauses, letting those words sink in while he tries to stop the tears that want to fall, and when he looks up, he almost fools himself into thinking he sees Luna there in the crowd, a tear dotting her cheek in a reversal of their positions when they first saw one another back in Altissia. 

_There was so much I wanted to tell you..._ -words that flash through his mind before he breathes outwards and forces himself to keep going. 

"I want to be a king you can rely on, someone who will bring peace to this world and honor the deaths of my father and Luna. But I can't do it alone. Since the beginning, I always had my friends at my side." He pauses once more as his eyes find Prompto's, Gladio's, and Ignis' on the stage lined up to the side. He meets their gazes head on and watches as Gladio nods, Prompto gives him a thumbs up, and Ignis smiles. "-and now, I ask that you all stand with Lucis and help us rebuild the world. We can't give up. There are still threats, still Niflheim soldiers out there... we have to stand together. We've lost so much already. Let's remember them -let's fight for the fallen."

His voice cracks at the edge, and he clenches his eyes shut, willing the shaking to stop. When he reopens them again, he's treated to the sight of so many other tear-filled faces, eyes pointed upwards before each body starts to kneel. His friends join, sinking to one knee and pressing a balled up fist to their chest as they lower their heads respectfully. It warms Noctis to the core, looking outwards at everyone before he stops himself from wiping the tears that fall. "Thank you, everyone," he murmurs into the mic before stepping away. 

No cheers erupt afterwards, only the silence of those mourning their losses yet still finding something inside of them to want to continue to fighting. Noctis swears on that day to everything in his power to earn their loyalty. 

As if on cue, the sun shines between the Citadel towers, an outstretch of light that covers Noctis and the crowd while Gladio finally moves. His steps are steady as he approaches Noctis, holding the crown before him. "Today, we name you, Noctis Lucis Caelum, son of King Regis Lucis Caelum, as the 114th King of Lucis. He is the king we chose." 

Noctis' eyes quickly find Gladio's darker ones, moved by the level of sincerity there. The loyalty between them that had nearly shattered almost a year ago seems so much stronger now, and for so long, he had his doubts about whether or not Gladio had resented that he had to serve him. But gazing at him now, there's no question how much he wants to be at his side and how much Noctis wants him, Prompto, and Ignis there in return.

His head tips forward slowly as he feels Gladio slide the crown into place and secure it just where his father always wore it. It sits poised on one side of his head as Noctis steps away just so he can see everyone, and this time, it's not just Luna standing in the midst of the crowd but his father, too, smiling at him warmly. The crowd's cheering suddenly resumes along with the swell of orchestral music behind, and it all slowly turns into a faded noise in the background, leaving Noctis drifting precariously in a daze where he wonders if any of this is at all real. If it is, for once, it's a dream he doesn't want to wake from. 

 

**012.**

 

Steam clouds billow out of an open door as morning light filters through the large windows, and Ignis' first thought is that he's been here before -a simple, sleek room with a modern design, a single king-sized bed in the center and a view overlooking the ocean's side. A balcony sits right outside, two chairs and a table full of drinks left out to melt in the hot weather. It's the first clue Ignis has that he's not alone as he slowly walks into the room, trying to place when he'd last been here. Then it hits him as he stares at the folded newspapers on one of the coffee tables. The four of them had stayed here when they first learned of Insomnia's fall during the treaty signing, but he is uncertain why or how he returned, only that the multiple beds that once occupied the room have been inexplicably replaced by one.

The sound of the shower running draws his attention to the source, treading as though he were slipping through a perilous jungle as his heart starts to pick up pace. The hot air keeps climbing towards him, surrounding him and fogging up his glasses while he steps inside. A pale figure stands behind the fogged up shower doors, one hand on the wall while the other moves through his hair, pushing the familiar dark strands back away from his face, and on his scalp stretches out a pair of large horns that curve behind his lean body, practically overpowering the small shower stall. 

An amber-colored gaze catches him, a striking look that envelops Ignis whole, and his body is quickly laved on the inside with heated strokes along his nerve endings, threatening to make shudder involuntarily. With it comes the residual guilt of seeing his friend this way, responding positively to how his sculpted body looks under the water, the sinuous muscle, the hard lines of his abdomen, the different shapes etched out from his back muscles while a scar remains painted on both his chest and between two nobs along his back bone. Ignis' gaze doesn't venture any lower, forcing himself to quickly look away out of shame, granting his friend privacy, though Noctis hasn't protested  his presence yet -rather, he hasn't reacted at all, as though he can't see him there. 

Just as he's about to retreat from the bathroom, his eyes catch sight of his own reflection in the bathroom mirror, blurred by the condensation left from the fog clouds. Blond hair, soft eyes, an unmistakably feminine face... his hands touch his cheeks in disbelief, able to feel his glasses mounted on his face yet they don't appear anywhere in the mirror's eye view. That can't be possible.

He claws feebly at the glasses, taking them off and placing them on, but the reflection doesn't follow his movements at all. Instead, letters start to appear upon the mirror's surface as though they are being traced by a fingertip: 'E-L-C-A-R-O-D-N-A-G-N-I-K' 

_'What does it mean?'_ His mind tries to make sense of the puzzling letters before a fresh cloud of steam covers them up fast, leaving him in the dark, a place he's yet to grow comfortable within. 

When his eyes fly open once more, he can hear his alarm faintly sounding to the side of him, his phone vibrating roughly while a programmed voice announces the time. His whole entire body aches, and his mind is once again spinning in place as he tries to sit up. His clothes stick and bunch against his skin, the sweatiest parts laden between his legs and under his arms, making him feel distinctly uncomfortable. The distended fabric from his underwear pulls at one of the contributing sources of his present unease, fingers brushing awkwardly over the pronounced bulge before he lets himself swallow around the dread built up in his throat.

It's been ages since he had a dream like that, ages since pubescent hormones had left him a shaking mass of puddled heat in the mornings, though he has no intention of seeking relief. The room he'd chosen to stay in that night had been his old room in the Citadel, still left in its pristine condition and only in need of a bit of a dusting. The afternoon before, he'd been hit with nostalgia while idly feeling over the old spines of books he used to read and letting his fingers draw against the oak desk he often inhabited while poring over documents and reports. Even his favorite mug hadn't been disturbed from its resting place on the night stand. However, right now, he feels at odds being in here, a place of martial discipline where he'd trained for years to serve the king only to catch himself thinking of him inappropriately. 

His palms come up to his eyes reflexively as though he could somehow scrub the image out with his own flesh, desperate to erase whatever truth his mind might be trying to insinuate. To keep himself continuously distracted is a better recourse than paying mind to the chaotic throb of need threatening to burst from his body as he moves from the bed and immediately grabs his phone, commanding it to pull up his note pad app. He then slowly reads out each letter that he recalls from his dream for it to record, using that as a calming meditation. When he's done, he replays the sound of his voice again and again, trying to decipher the puzzle as though it could somehow hold some mystery key to -what exactly? He doesn't know at all, but it's easier to focus on the meaning behind those letters than it is on the connotation of anything else in his dream, unwilling to acknowledge that part of himself even exists let alone that any embers should be stoked. 

Again, the letters are played out even slower, pausing after each syllable before he remembers that they were written on a mirror, but the one writing them was the Luna he saw in his reflection. Therefore, the letters were backwards. If he had written them himself, they would have read-

"King and oracle," he says out loud, tasting the words on his tongue as he holds his phone with a trembling hand. What does that even mean? His dream before that, Luna and Noctis had been on the throne together, seemingly celebrating the wedding that hadn't taken place. Now, she was in the bathroom with him in a particularly intimate setting. 

Perhaps, he's starting to go mad with worry. After the coronation, everything had become so unnervingly calm, all of them gravitating to new roles and positions. There were so many administrative details to be seen to that he hasn't really had a lot of rest while Gladio had been exploring the crown city's perimeter to keep their borders secure. Noctis had been meeting with some of the leaders from the remaining foreign powers of other nations and trying to forge alliances in order to get more funding to rebuild Insomnia, a task that has been proving to be overwhelming enough for the two of them. Prompto had taken to helping the Marshal train new recruits on firearms, a role that he'd accepted with more confidence and eagerness than Ignis would have expected out of him.

In their own way, they'd all been moving on, but his heart still hasn't quelled one bit from past concerns -past fears and worries. They'd all come too close to death to rest easy even in these times of tepid peace. It almost feels as though all this tranquility is merely them being drawn into a false sense of security when in reality, they've yet to even scratch the surface of what dangers lurk in and around Insomnia. He only hopes that he _is_ mad at this point because it's the one time in his life he doesn't want to be right. 

After his body has calmed down enough, Ignis finally treats himself to a quick shower before grabbing the suit that Prompto had laid out for him the night before. Dressing becomes an easier task as the days roll by, able to easily slip his clothing on with little to no delay. By the time he's down at the kitchens to prepare breakfast, he hears the trudging of footsteps -more than he's used to. For the past few weeks, it had only been the four of them having breakfast together before they all split up, but now, it seems they have guests. 

"...must notify the King first," he overhears from one of the voices, a vaguely recognizable one. Perhaps, it had been one of the hunters who had joined the Crownsguard. 

"I'll handle that part. He'll want to investigate matters on his own, but now isn't the time for him to be running around." 

The second voice is the Marshal's without a doubt. Ignis wants to question him, but he isn't sure if he should be listening in or not. His hands remain at their task, cracking egg after egg to prepare omelettes, though he hears the steps approaching -hears them stop when they come upon the kitchen. The Marshall's gruff voice joins the sound of the pan hissing as it fries up its contents quickly.

"We need to talk." 

Words that never have a good implication, even less so when they come from the Marshal. Perhaps, his dread hadn't been misguided at all. It's a bitter pill to swallow, but he nods while he continues to cook, unwilling to allow eight good eggs to go to waste. 

"I'm listening," he responds.

"A pair of hitchhikers on the way to Insomnia were found dead in Leide. Around the bite marks was the same substance oozing out of those voretooths. You can guess how they died. A couple of miles away, there was a pack of coeurls who had been in the same post-mortem state. They were too vicious for our hunters to take out, and the coeurls easily overpowered them. Only one made it back alive and told us where they found the bodies." 

The Marshal was right. If Noctis heard about it, he would want to go and investigate rather than put any more of his people at risk. He had promised he'd protect his kingdom and looked every bit intent to keep his word. Ignis has no doubt of his sincerity, but he also knows the king can't involve himself in such risky under-takings any longer. "Do Gladio and Prompto know anything?" 

"Not yet. We were hoping to take at least Gladio along, but that means the King will be vulnerable without a bodyguard." 

That's not an ideal solution, especially if any remaining dissenters from Niflheim were to catch wind of it. They could easily target him with their security still as diminished as it is. 

"It's better if he stays here. I can travel with the hunters in his stead." 

Words he knows will be met with disagreement, but Ignis is prepared to argue if he must. He hadn't exactly been taking his training lax the past few weeks either, and it would put himself at greater ease were he to deal with the problem head on. 

"I know you don't want to hear this, but we can't have you being a liability. You're not as strong as you used to be." 

"Is that not something you should judge for yourself? Besides, I will never improve if all I face are stationery targets."

A soft snort erupts from Cor's lips as he hears him next to him. He's still revving up to argue, but the older man sounds more amused than upset on his end.

"If I were you, I'd have probably done and said the same thing at your age. I know how much you want to prove yourself, but if the King lost you, it'd be a hard blow after losing both his betrothed and his father. Think wisely about what you're doing and who you're putting at risk." 

It's true, he hasn't quite considered the consequences as carefully as he normally does. Perhaps, it's stubbornness on his part or his continual unwillingness to accept being an invalid. It would be a selfish choice indeed, but he knows if he shies away because of his injury, he won't master it as he needs to. He's not in a position where he can afford to be cared for and babysat himself. Neither is Noctis, for that matter. Everyone has begun to forge their own path, and the fear of being left behind without direction still ails him. He despises his growing insecurities yet cannot reject them either. His only way of overcoming them is proving his own worth to himself. 

"In many ways," Ignis tells him, "it is not unlike that time you lead Gladio to the Tempering Grounds." 

"The real test is you convincing those other three of the same." 

Indeed, he doesn't know how the suggestion would fare with them. He doubts they would allow him to endanger himself willingly even if he plans to be anything but a burden. He's aware of his limitations, but he also knows he has skills that he can offer. It's imperative they investigate these undead creatures rather than allow the problem to become exacerbated. Niflheim had been felled by its own hubris in thinking they could somehow bring the forces of nature under its command. They had been an even bigger pawn than King Regis and the treaty signing had been, and ultimately, they had paid the largest blood price for all their negligent science.  

"I'll leave it to you then," the Marshal says afterwards, fingers giving him a reassuring clasp on the shoulder as he passes by. 

Once Ignis is alone in the kitchen, he forces himself to contend with the reality of the situation. There's no denying capriciousness had played a role in his decision, but he does want to be an active member of the Crownsguard -not simply accepting his limitations as an advisor to Noctis. He must learn to be his eyes and ears out in the world at large and also not burden Gladio and Prompto with those responsibilities. Though he knows either of them would have easily stepped up if offered the chance, but Gladio needs to protect their king, and in these trying times, Prompto is often the only person Noctis can relax fully around. He knows the two best friends would have difficult parting, especially after circumstances that lead to Prompto's capture and imprisonment in Zegnautus Keep. Out of all of them, Prompto had probably taken Noctis' near-death experience the hardest, something he'd been able to read in his voice during those hospital visits, the gentle waver and hoarse-like whisper of his words that indicated he'd been crying at some point. 

With his own resolve in place, his hands ready the omelettes, expertly balancing all the plates as he carries them to the table. He then awaits the pounding of footsteps, the sounds as familiar to him as the feel of his own skin, acknowledging his friends with a neutral expression as they take their seats. 

"Slept in?" he asks, if only to detract from the matters he would really rather discuss.

"As well as I could with Gladio's snoring," Noctis comments, words earning him what he assumes his a playful swat. "Ever since Gladio moved in next door, it somehow got worse than when we shared a tent." 

"At least, I don't have to put up with your drooling on my pillow or Prompto's feet stench anymore. If anything, I had the worst of it all with both you idiots on either side of me." 

"My feet do _not_ smell," Prompto chimes in, "Ignis can be the judge. He's got the best nose of us all."

The blood hound comparisons seem to never get old, but Ignis takes no offense to it. 

"Gladio is correct on both accounts, but also, Gladio's snoring is without equal. How many times will I play arbiter in these discussions?" 

He imagines the three of them are less than pleased with the revelation as he can hear the stirrings of grumblings while they push their forks into their food. The aroma is less pronounced than the quiet sounds of his friends eating around him, taking some comfort in it before he struggles to shift the conversation. There really is no easy way to talk about it, and it'd be a greater surprise to him if the news wasn't met with immediate disagreement. 

His throat clears a bit as he steals a sip of his tea before starting, "I plan to leave Insomnia for an unforeseen amount of time to travel with the Marshal and the hunters." 

Silence is the immediate response, and Ignis tries to picture the three shocked and befuddled expressions aimed his way. 

"I know it is a critical time of development for the kingdom, but there are pressing matters with the hunters. A rise of deaths and attacks by creatures similar to the voretooths we dealt with on the way to Insomnia. Unlike regular daemons, the light does not hamper them. There is no way to protect ourselves from them should they reach Insomnia in large droves. I volunteered to assist with the situation." 

Naturally, the first to object is Gladio, barely even allowing him to finish his sentence. 

"Volunteered without consulting us, you mean. What makes you think you can do the job? _I_ should be going." 

"We _all_ should be," Noctis adds, his voice also giving way to objection and unease. 

"I understand, but the king should not be absent from his kingdom for such a grievous length of time. You're everyone's hope, Noct." 

The table rattles as a chair scrapes against the floor, and he imagines it's Noctis who is standing up fast. "And what's my other option? Let you die out there instead?" 

For once, both Gladio and Noctis are on the same page as he feels Gladio's anger emanating from him in near-palpable waves. 

"You can't take off like that! I agree Noct should stay here, but you can't take even one of those things out on your own! Last time, Noct had to step in and save you." 

That is true, almost enough to make him doubt his efficacy, but he still believes this is the best choice for himself and the three of them. "There are great threats to be faced here as well. Many who would try and target Noct. Do you plan to leave him without a shield?" 

An annoyed sound erupts from the back of Noctis' throat, drawing Ignis' face reflexively towards his general direction. "Hold up, I'm not staying cooped up in the Citadel while you guys go out and do all the fighting! I'm not gonna end up like my dad!"

"Your father thought of the greater good and empowered the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive around him to protect the people of Lucis. You must learn to do the same. You put the ring back on your finger, yet you keep your powers only in reach of us three. What other choice is there?" 

"Look how that worked out for him! The Kingsglaive turned their backs on him and our people!" By the end, Noctis voice cracks before he slams a balled fist down on the table, "What are you thinking, Ignis?" 

He's thinking of himself and of their future, of wanting to protect his friends yet being unable to advance quickly enough to do so. He's thinking of the growing threats and the words in the mirror that still haunt him even now. Perhaps, it's all guilt for having fallen once before and having failed to protect Noctis' betrothed -then the unnerving warp of those thoughts into something else entirely, a feeling he's been avoiding addressing for perhaps many years now. Yet it still lies dormant beneath his skin, threatening to burst through the surface when he's longing to try and carve out the other man's face before him in the dark canvas of his sight. 

"Noct, I understand how you feel, but set aside-"

" _My_ selfishness," Noctis spits back at him as he finishes his thought for him. By now, he can feel the king hovering close, practically quivering with rage, " _you're_ being selfish!" 

The third chair finally scrapes, and Ignis presumes that Prompto is bounding to Noctis' side to pull the king away. "Guys, take it easy. What if I went with him?" 

Worry fills him quickly, not only for Prompto's safety but also Noctis' current mental state. Having one of his friends absent is already hard enough for him to take as his reactions clearly show. Noctis may not be outright saying it, but he knows the king is afraid to lose someone else close to him, which is why Ignis has no intentions of dying on the road. He wants to convince the king that he has every means of returning back to his side after. 

"I couldn't ask you-," Ignis starts, but he's again cut off by Gladio this time.

"I already said I'm the one going. If anyone's got a problem with it, then tough." 

And back to square one. It's enough to make him finally snap at all three of them as though they're squabbling children, standing up abruptly and facing Gladio. "Enough! Gladio, you know your duties and responsibilities as well as I do mine. I have decided this is what I shall do. The same goes for you, Noct. I will return to you once I have answers. Prompto, I know you mean well, but you need to remain and aid recruitment and training efforts. The only one with the most freedom to leave the crown city is myself at the moment." 

"How do we know you'll come back?" Gladio challenges, and he's moving closer, so close that his natural musk tickles his nose for a moment. "You haven't been able to keep up with me like you used to since the injury. I know you don't want to hear it, but it's the truth. What good are you to them like this?" 

"I can hold my own," Ignis says firmly, keeping his shoulders squared and his body unflinching. "You've seen me train and practice everyday without rest, but if that isn't enough to convince you then I don't know what will." 

Short of fighting Gladio, but now is hardly the time nor place to do so. Noctis remains silent about the ordeal, but he can tell he's still upset, having been slowly learning to read through his vast library of silences. It's often more telling than when he uses actual words. 

"Go," the king finally says, his voice sounding soft, tired, and resigned, "go if you want. I won't order you to stay." 

Such solemnity twists through his heart sharply, feeling slight regret that it's come to this. He hopes Noctis isn't under the impression he's doing this because he has no desire to serve him any longer. That would be the worst conclusion to jump to, but he'll have to talk to him about it more privately later. They've all raised their voices enough for one morning. 

"Thank you," Ignis replies.

The rest of breakfast is consumed quietly, the ticking of the antique clock behind them growing more prominently as neither of them dare to converse. The tension in the room threatens to crush them all with the force of its density until Prompto offers to clean up. Those words are met with a smile of gratitude while Gladio announces that he'll head off to do his morning rounds. That leaves him following Noctis' footsteps into the study his father once used. The door is shut behind, and Ignis tries to find Noctis in the screen of darkness, his steps having vanished without warning. 

"You're upset," he notes, not even phrasing it as a question because he knows Noctis well enough by now. "Since our arrival here, I have been plagued with restlessness. There are questions I must find the answer to, many inexplicable phenomena that I feel an intimate connection to." 

He'd seen the creatures that attacked Noctis in a dream before, though he doesn't say that out loud. It's too unbelievable a feat to give voice to. "I want to find answers, Noct." 

Not only about the threat but about himself to. This may very well be the only way to address all the strange occurrences that have followed them since their return from Zegnautus Keep. "I would ask you all to come if it wan't more tactfully sound that you remain here in the capital. You need to oversee the rebuilding of the city and convince all these other world leaders that you are a capable and benevolent king." 

"I know," Noctis murmurs quietly, speaking for the first time since they'd stepped into the study. 

That sharp sensation in his chest only twists its way inside him even harder, pressing into delicate tissue and gorging the blood right out of him. It's rare for Noctis to show this much vulnerability so openly, but he does have a fragile side to him buried beneath his attempts to appear disaffected. That's a feeling he knows too well. He doesn't feel at all connected to the person he used to be, more scared and uncertain than he's ever been in his life. If only he knew how to soothe both their worries, but the variable endings to whatever fate has in store is a constant weight threatening to crush all four of them. 

_' King and Oracle.'_

Again, the words flash through his mind like an arrow being dreadfully shot straight through his skull, leaving the brain mass inside pounding erratically. The sudden ache has him sinking to his chair as he cradles his face and sees for a moment Noctis' face as it is now, the uneven strands of hair sticking to his cheek, a small knotted bunch on the back of his head with a twist tie, fresh strands spilling out around his face damp with sweat and grime. One hand reaches out towards him while the air is distorted by dancing embers of heat and fire, and Noctis' mouth moves around the sound of his name, screaming it while hie remains still in waiting, and there are endless pools of lava rolling through the ground all around them as Ignis' own fingers stretch back towards him, the tips of their hands brushing together feebly and-

-his mind is shaken out of the trance as a blink renders his vision dark again, trying to look through the haze again to find Noctis. He appears to be standing somewhere near him, calling out his name all the same. 

"I apologize," Ignis says quickly. "My mind... wandered."

"That's a first," Noctis comments, his voice harboring more concern than amusement. "Your eyes ...kind of. Never mind. It was the lighting or something." 

_'His eyes what...?'_

His face transforms with scrutiny, trying to piece together all the thoughts he had just now. It's definitely unsettling, especially when his imagination had never been known to take off like that. Noctis was right. It is a first. He wonders if it's a residual side-effect from the blunt trauma to his eyes. There's no better explanation for all these strange occurrences.

"Regardless, you're more capable than you think, Noct," he tries to continue, "You arranged those meetings yourself and spoke with little assistance from me. You understand the threats better than any of the other leaders, having lived through it all. Diplomacy may not be your strength, but your honesty speaks volumes. You are in no way a politician, but I believe that ends up working to your favor. Continue to look out for your people, continue to restore the crown city to its former glory. I pledged to remain by your side long before you became king, and I know you believe it's out of duty, but all of us... we fight with you because we believe in you." 

Noctis had stopped being a responsibility to him years ago and had slowly become simply a friend. One he wants to see grow and come into his full potential. He has a long way to go still, but he's no longer the boy that left Insomnia with so much naivete and excitement. He wears the eyes and spirit of a veteran now and has matured significantly since they first met one another. This time apart will be a testament of both their wills to do what must be done to protect the world at large. 

"Just promise you'll come back in one piece." 

His hand moves to his chest, fingers curled in a proper salute as he stands up so he can bow without restriction. "I promise." 

"I want regular updates. If you're doing this for our people, don't leave us in the dark. And call for back up if you need it." 

Ignis' lips quirk up at the corners, unable to contain himself. "Is the king nagging his adviser now? Who'd have thought?" 

He can feel the eye roll that Noctis is giving him as well as the tension easing minutely between them. With Noctis' support, he feels more certain of his decision than ever. It's a relief to him that they could come to this understanding, though the worry still rides atop his shoulders, compressing down into his spine as he leaves the study. What the journey will bring is something he doesn't know nor can he predict, but hopefully, he really will find some of the answers he's looking for out there. 

 

 **013.**

 

It's bright and early in the morning when Ignis decides to depart with the Marshal, the two of them vigilantly packing all sorts of items into their truck and securing a couple of weapons to take with them. Noctis watches them work silently, marveling that he himself is even up at this hour, but a part of him is worried it might be the last time he sees Ignis. The longest they'd been apart had been when they were separated at Gralea, and that feels like almost a lifetime ago. Whenever he sneaked out of the Citadel as a child, it was always Ignis trailing after him to make sure he wouldn't get hurt. Whenever he needed a ride home from school, it was Ignis who would pick him up; Ignis who'd drive him to all sorts of events and video game releases; Ignis who came with him to see his mother's grave on her birthday; Ignis who hardly went a day without stopping by his apartment to tidy up. 

He knows, at some point, they had to go their separate ways but just never knew when that time would come. Perhaps, it's overdue because he's growing past the point where he can rely on someone to clean up after him or keep his schedule in order for him. It's true what Ignis had said a few days earlier. He has to take charge of the restoration efforts and figure things out on his own. Everyone is depending on him from here on out, and he can't go on being aimless and confused. 

But he's still afraid something might happen to his friend out there, no matter how many times he tells himself that Ignis is beyond capable. The handicap is a liability whether Ignis wants to acknowledge it or not, and the fact that any daemon can just leap out and attack him from behind without him knowing is one that keeps rotating endlessly in his head. Ignis' body isn't the next one he wants to bury in the ground, and he still wishes Gladio could have convinced him that all of them should go along with him, too. 

His concerns remain unspoken as the clouds starts to crawl over them. A light drizzle leaves water drops pecking at the skin on his face, and the sun beams are eclipsed, making the scene before him appear all the more dreary. His hand brushes away some of the dampness from his forehead just as Ignis secures the last of the supplies. Only Prompto steps out to join him, carrying an umbrella that he holds over both their heads before waving cheerily at Ignis.

"Today's the big day, huh?" 

Ignis nods as he wipes his own face dry too with a handkerchief. "It seems the clouds are echoing Gladio's dissent. He hasn't spoken much to me." 

The only one who hadn't come to bid Ignis and the Marshal goodbye. Unsurprising, but Gladio is usually pretty hard-headed. He hadn't been too happy with him either for allowing this and not ordering Ignis to stay and assist them here. Truthfully, it had been a temptation he fought to resist if only because he read the words that Ignis had trouble saying outright. The other man wants to prove his use, but he's already done so much for all of them. Why does he still need to put his neck on the line? Maybe Noctis had just done a shit job all these years about actually being appreciative, and he's forced now to deal with the consequences. But his mind had been too scattered the past few months to really have many open talks about what he's going through, the constant guilt he's had to contend with after being unable to save so many people, battling insecurity after insecurity. 

The wounds never want to coagulate, and it's being exposed to the acidic fumes of terror that he'll stand to lose more and more in the near future if he doesn't take better charge of his destiny. 

_There was so much I wanted to tell you..._

It's hard to shake that stubborn memory loose, trying to hide his annoyance with himself as he faces Ignis. The older man steps closer, and it feels as though Noctis should say something pertinent. Yet, the words are gone from his mind, a blank canvas left in their wake while he stares at his own reflection in the frames of Ignis' eyes. 

_There was so much I wanted to tell you..._

Why couldn't he say anything to her before? Why can't he say anything to him now? What is it he even wants to say? The compressed feeling around his chest makes it hard to breathe, eyes tracing over to the pale near-white irises hidden behind Ignis' glasses. Just a few days ago, they'd turned a strange shade of blue-green, as though they'd been glowing ethereally, but the very idea of that is stupid. He doesn't even know what it is that he wants to see in them. 

His whole body moves as though possessed, fingers poised to cup the back of the older man's neck in an awkward half-hug, letting the gesture speak through all the volumes of words lost in his throat. His heart pounds so rabidly from the gesture that he almost fears Ignis will feel it through all the layers of clothes and skin between them, and if he does, it goes unmentioned. There's nothing but the sound of splattering rain, and Ignis' steady and even breaths moving across his ear, making Noctis instantly regret doing something this reckless. 

Fortunately, it ends as quickly as it had started, Noctis being the first to pull away, jolting back as though he'd been shocked and rubbing his fingers over the damp skin of his own neck now. His head curls inwards, hair hanging messily over his eyes while he avoids Ignis' stare even when he knows the older man can't see anything. There's still something penetrative about those eyes, calculating and unforgiving, as though they've already managed to strip apart every single wall he's placed between them all these years. The vulnerability of it leaves him unsteady by contrast, a roiled up mess of emotions where as Ignis is immovable. Never one to flinch or reveal anything. 

"Remember your promise," Noctis finally says, though the words peter off at the end, a chill fused against his back from the rain to combat the sudden heated flush coiling at the bottom of his stomach. 

"I'll come back, Noct." 

Words spoken with more sincerity and emotion than he's used to hearing from Ignis, and it feels as though they may be parted another eternity yet again. It hadn't been nearly this harrowing when Gladio had left, but at the time, Noctis hadn't believed his shield was going off to chase his own death. He felt stupid and naive afterwards, knowing how close he could have come to losing Gladio. And yet again, in Zegnautus Keep, almost losing Prompto. Almost losing all three of them. He can't let anything happen to them, and this feels like a betrayal of his own will. 

But it's too late. 

The umbrella shifts into his hands for Noctis to hold while Prompto is far less self-conscious about giving Ignis a hug. His arms embrace Ignis' body with a tight squeeze, completely unabashed about ruffling their friend up before letting him go. He almost envies his ability to be that open and expressive with people; wishes he could release his own inhibitions long enough to try.  
   
"Gonna miss you and those strawberry pancakes and whipped cream with the chocolate drizzle. Or the spicy shrimp skewers... oh man, you make the best curry, too. How am I going to live without you?" 

The blond mock-groans, dropping his head on Ignis' shoulder before letting him go, and Ignis smiles freely and openly in a way that Noctis could never elicit out of him, but again, Prompto just has that effect on people.

"I prepared a few meals last night and left them in the fridge. I'm afraid, after that, you're on your own. Try not to burn the Citadel down while I'm gone."

"Can't make any promises there," Noctis jokes, settling into a lighter tone as though easing onto a pile of warm blankets. It's easier to engage in their usual banter than to speak of grave possibilities right now. 

Footsteps echo from behind them as Ignis starts to make his way towards the car, and the three of them turn at once to spot Gladio who throws something towards Ignis. To his own surprise, the bespectacled man manages to catch it rather easily. From his own vantage point, he makes out the shape of a box, one that Ignis opens as he feels around inside. 

"A camping knife?" Ignis murmurs, fingers still brushing over the object.

"Only the best. You got everything from a bottle opener, a flash light, scissors, a cork screw on it, some other gadgets. Should help you out on the road." 

There's a beat where they all marvel in silence before each of Gladio's arms envelop both his and Prompto's necks. He feels himself tugged inwards abruptly as Gladio grins a lot more easily than he'd seen him the past few days. "You didn't think I wasn't gonna say goodbye before you left, did you?" 

Ignis smiles once more, gentle and sincere, and the image is unconsciously woven into the tapestry of Noctis' thoughts, trying to immortalize as much of the memory as he can while feeling that times like these will be few and far between. They don't know when they will meet again, but he has to believe that Ignis will come back eventually, stronger and all the better for it. And Noctis doesn't plan on wasting all the conviction placed in him by failing to live up to expectation, a fear he's harbored for so long now. He can't let everyone down.

They all watch the truck as it leaves at last, driving towards the distance and shrinking quickly out of sight. The rising sun swallows up the road in its powerful orange glow, and Noctis forces himself to get settled with the day's preoccupations. Meetings throughout the day, border patrols to revise and strengthen, reports to dig through and examine. The words unfold into shapes, staring at the documents before him so long that they start to float from the paper and look like Tetris pieces. His eyes blink the images away, and he finds himself staring out the large study windows, watching the sun's slow dance across the sky, an indication of time moving even if he feels stagnant at the moment. Even with the bright rays tickling his cheeks, there's still the underlying fear that the darkness will start to creep in on the world at large once more, remembering how so subtly the days grew shorter until the nights had felt endless. To some, it is, but it's a thought he refuses to focus on as he tries to concentrate on the matter of ruling. 

Days turn to weeks like this, succumbing to the thrall of routine with only his ever growing hair to indicate how many months have gone by. Cutting it had no longer become a priority of his, bangs left swept to the side while he ties up part of it behind his head with whatever he can find lying around, using a rubber band or one of Iris' hair ties.

On lighter days, he steps out of the Citadel to watch Prompto training the newest recruits while surviving Crownsguard and former Kingsglaive members assist. Uniforms are brought in to help identify them better, and buildings start to appear all around him as construction moves forward. Iris also trains eagerly alongside her brother, hoping to take her place in the Crownsguard one day, much to Gladio's chagrin. It's kind of refreshing to see him bent out of shape around his sister, and the older man casts several warning glances at Prompto who harbors not enough self-preservation to keep from trying to comment on Iris' looks as puberty rapidly starts to shape her into a young woman. 

By the time his 22nd birthday rolls around, Noctis realizes it's the first one he's spent without Ignis since they first met all those years back. They were technically all together during the last one even if Noctis hadn't been awake for it, but without Ignis' cooking in the background while they all play cards or gather around the TV to smash each other to pieces in the latest first-person shooter, it's hard for them all not to feel his absence. Prompto does his best to compensate with boxed cake mix that burns on the outer edges while Gladio grills up burgers in the Citadel courtyard, something he knows both their fathers would have been appalled at were they still alive. Iris manages to tie up balloons to the surrounding trees and statues and strings up a banner with Noctis' name misspelled and corrected with permanent marker. Talcott gives him a home-made cactuar plush toy that he and Iris worked on together, complete with hair in Noctis' trademark style and a little crown.

It's all enough to distract Noctis from his worry and provide a bit of respite from his daily tasks, enjoying the fresh smell of garula meat shipped from Duscae as well as the familiarity of Prompto's camera clicking away. 

"Got to catch the king with barbecue sauce on his face. The papers are going to eat this up."

"Cut that out," Noctis chides, pushing the lens from his face before self-consciously rubbing around his mouth. "You'd really sell your friend out for a few hundred?" 

"You'd do the same to me!" 

"Got me there." 

A few shutter-click sounds echo through the courtyard before Prompto slides to the ground and finally sets the camera aside. His expression grows thoughtful as he fingers the lens, the pale color of his eyes hidden by half-closed lids before he murmurs, "I was hoping I could send some to Ignis so he'd feel like he was right here with us all, but then I remembered..." 

He wouldn't be able to see them at all. That harsh reality that swings a bat to their heads every time the distance between them feels palpable. He imagines it isn't easy for Prompto not to be able to share his favorite pastime with their friend any longer. 

"Could always just call him up. If he's not busy ...put him on speaker or something." 

It's the best any of them could do at the moment, though he hadn't heard from Ignis in two days. He'd have thought he would have at least sent a text or phone call on his birthday, but he must be busy. Right now, he's not much of a priority to Ignis as the investigation underway, so he doesn't feel any particular offense by it. Mostly, he's worried about his friend and his lack of response to the point where it's difficult to tell himself that he has no reason to suspect anything could have gone wrong. They could simply be out of range of any cell phone towers.

His eyes shift over to the scene of Gladio throwing a football around with some of the other Crownsguard members, another sight that would have made their dads balk. It's a momentary distraction, watching him sprint powerfully while the newer recruits try and keep up with him. At some point, he'll have to grant them all his power, though the fear of over-taxing himself like his father had is also very present. There was a lot of good that man did for their people, but he wasn't without error, and Noctis would be stupid to repeat those mistakes. He and his father were always different people from the start, but he wonders if his father would have entrusted something as grave as the undead rising and attacking his people to someone else. The likely answer is that while he knew his father cared, he'd simply been too weak to go out and fight any longer, but Noctis isn't. Not yet.

There's still a lot he can and _should_ do even if everyone insists on him remaining safely locked away in the Citadel. He's become far from frail, and his wounds had healed up completely by now. There's still a residual soreness from too much activity, but it's not enough to hamper him. Besides, he wants to be able to protect his people himself and not have anyone else die in his name or in his stead.

Just as that thought passes through his mind, his phone vibrates in his pocket. For a moment, he thinks it might be Ignis getting into contact with them at last, but it ends up being an emergency notification for everyone in the region to stay indoors. Another unidentified creature on the loose. His stomach clenches in worry, nearly forcing all the burger he'd eaten to the back of his throat, and he and Prompto exchange morose glances as he receives the same text.

"There's no telling if it's bad news for sure. Could just be a sighting." 

Noctis nods, trying to convince himself to be reassured by that statement. "Wish we could go out there and investigate." 

"Me too," Prompto concedes, "Never thought being in the Crownsguard would mean not getting to go out and take care of business. We know what's out there better than most folks." 

"You can try and sound at least a little happy to be appointed." 

"I am!" Prompto shoots back, "Don't get me wrong. Wouldn't trade it in for the world. Just miss all the action, you know? Even though I was scared when we first went out there, it felt good, knowing we were doing something that's gonna save the world." 

"That hasn't changed," Noctis reassures him, "We're just saving it in other ways. Niflheim did a number on Eos, and Insomnia's just the first of many cities that need to be rebuilt." 

Altissia had also been lain to waste from Leviathan's attack among many other nations that were subjugated. He wants to rebuild Tenebrae, too, even if there isn't anyone left from the Nox Fleuret family to rule. But Luna deserves to have her childhood home restored and at least some of her memories from there preserved -his memories too. The people would also rally around the home of the fallen oracle, knowing how much they all loved her. It would be the greatest gift he could give her from this life and the only way he knows to honor her and perhaps erase some of the guilt twined around his heart. 

Prompto's hand rests on his shoulder as he chuckles warmly, the mirthful sound just as grafted into his memory as Ignis' smile but perhaps for a different reason. "We've come a long way, buddy, you and I. To think yesterday we were whining about math tests and splitting shakes at Galaxy Burger." 

"You're starting to sound like we're old men. Come on, I still got a ton of years left before I look like ancient." 

Less years than Prompto, but that's not a point he's going to emphasize out loud. For now, they still appear to be contemporaries, and he's far from feeling like he needs a cane to get around. But for how long? Who knows? His father had strained himself in keeping up the shield around Insomnia and powering up the entire Kingsglaive. Noctis has decided just the four of them tapping into the bulk of his power is enough for now, regardless of what others have advised him to do. It's not a burden he can easily share with others, especially knowing what happened when the Kingsglaive no longer put their faith in their king. 

"Don't know. Think I'm starting to spot a wrinkle on your forehead." 

The blond pokes his skin playfully with the comment and earns an agitated swat for his efforts.

"Do not." 

"Do too!" 

The argument dissolves into a friendly chase around the courtyard before Gladio readies a few fireworks, mostly home-made ones he got from Lestallum's black market. Surprisingly, he manages not to blow up his own hands while releasing them in an explosion of color and light, the bright streaks splayed across the sky while Prompto snaps away. Again, Noctis wishes Ignis could see the images they've captured, especially when they all stand together for a group pose. 

A few remaining embers fall from the sky before they step inside, and the Citadel hums with the noises of the usual bustle -guards moving into their stations around the building, whispered conversations, the clicking of boots to and fro. Noctis bids the others good night before he moves into the master suite, having taken it for himself because the giant canopy bed had been too alluring to resist. His father had let him sleep with him in it a few times when he'd been young and had nightmares, but after the accident, Noctis had stopped visiting him at night altogether and had instead hid inside his own blankets, refusing to seek the comfort he wanted. He'd been plagued with as much guilt then as he is now, worried he may have inadvertently caused the deaths of all those people who protected him, hating himself for living while they died. 

That's no way for any average eight year old to feel, but time has been slowly dampening those feelings, replacing some of the bad with the good, reminding him of the better days spent curled up with his father's arm around him, his chin resting on the top of his head. The room even smells like him even though he hasn't been inside of it for over two years, an aroma that always helps to lure Noctis into a deep sleep as his fingers squeeze around the pillow beneath his head. He's so immersed in drowning deep beneath the relaxing sensation permeating the atmosphere that he almost misses the buzzing sound of his phone.

His fingers blindly reach out towards it, clawing around his night table until he grabs a hold of it. He's barely cognizant when he manages to accept the call, a garbled "What?" spilling from his lips as he curls back up in bed.

"Noct?" the voice on the other line answers, "I apologize for disturbing your rest. I'll be brief." 

The recognizable tone and timber of that tongue wrapping around his nickname, a sound that works like a cattle prong against his mind, shocks him awake as his eyes fly open. "Ignis?" 

"I couldn't find time to call you earlier. We were on the road and had no towers en route to Duscae." 

"That far out, huh? Find anything interesting?" 

A pregnant pause on the other line. Noctis takes advantage of the silence to straighten himself up in bed and try to focus. 

"A report better left for another time. I'll tell you more in the upcoming days. I didn't get a chance to wish you Happy Birthday earlier... " 

The reports are more important than the birthday wish, but Noctis bites back the urge to protest or voice his worries. It's kind of sweet Ignis had been fretting over something as insignificant as that. "Wouldn't have been the end of the world if you didn't. Prompto almost killed us all with his cake though." 

Ignis replies with a quiet chuckle on his end. "I'm surprised you live to tell such tales. I'll make it up to you when I return." 

_If_ he returns, his mind tries to supply, but Noctis does his best to stamp out the kernel of dread threatening to pop in the back of his head. "All the reason for you to get back here quicker in one piece." 

The pause is longer this time, the line going so quiet that he fears for a moment it may have died. He's almost about to call out Ignis' name before Ignis speaks. 

"Noct, you have a scar from the final battle at Zegnautus Keep... a prominent one between your rib cage. A wound no ordinary man would have survived." 

The words are cryptic, and Noctis can't help tugging the fabric of his shirt down to stare at the shape of the scar. Most of his wounds had been healed up, but there were still traces of some of the marks left on his body, though from whose blade, he can't remember. Did Ardyn brandish a sword against him? His mind replays through the faint sensation of dozens upon dozens of weapons being pushed into his chest, one agonizing tip at a time, the life being forcefully bled out of him.

"Yeah, so?" he replies after a moment, unsure where Ignis is going with this.

"There's a matching wound on the back of your body... though I haven't seen you at all since before the attack on Altissia, I know what you look like now. Exactly as you appear." 

Goosebumps rise on his skin as Noctis' fingers leave the fabric of his shirt to curl around the ends of his hair, almost self-consciously as though he were being peered at now. But that's impossible - _and_ ridiculous. "Hey, come on now... you're not suddenly psychic, are you? Did you hit your head out there?" 

"No," is the immediately answer before Ignis heaves out a sigh. "I don't know how I know this. It has no bearing on our activities at present. The expedition has been productive so far. We removed the coeurls and examined one of their bodies. Again, bite marks... perhaps them attacking one another, but the originator is a mystery." 

At least, there's some good news coming out of all this, but Noctis can't stop from remaining unsettled, the beginnings of a chill worming down his spinal cord as he unconsciously tugs the fabric of his shirt tighter around himself. "Just keep me posted."

"I'll call you again. Same time tomorrow, promise." 

_Promise._ "That's a word we're both starting to use more and more often."

Ignis lets out a quiet sound of amusement before responding, "Have I broken any to you, yet?" 

He never has, but Noctis has trouble feeling reassured no matter how much they use that word. At some point, it'll grow devoid of all meaning. No one keeps every promise they make. "Tomorrow, then." 

The world feels too still when they hang up, and not even the scent of his father's room can lure him back to sleep. What did Ignis mean by saying he could see him as he is now? He couldn't have been literal about it, but he's not sure if there wasn't something his friend had been trying to tell him between each word. Some wedged between message lingering on his tongue. He should have pressed Ignis to be more direct, trying to parse through all the things he's not being told. He doesn't want to be left in the dark again, not after his father had down-played the threat of the Niflheim army -not after he sent him away with a smile without telling him it'd be the last they'd see of one another. 

The loss blooms fresh that night, and outpouring of tightness in his chest that leaves Noctis staring up at the tiles of the ceiling until his body can't remain awake any longer. Only at the brink of exhaustion does he find any rest, the world drowned out by the sound of Ignis' words replaying as he searches for some kind of hint as to what his friend is really feeling. 

 

**014.**

 

Water dripping from a faucet in the other room keeps him awake as Ignis moves out of bed, taunted by the insufferable sound. One drop, two drops, the maddening plop as it reaches the water's surface, and he follows the repetition like a dazed moth, eyes peering through the darkness until he slides into the threshold of the bathroom. The fluorescent light takes him aback, squinting through the whiteness on the walls and tiles before he follows the sound further to a tub. A naked figure sits inside, only his back visible while Ignis' eyes trace over the faint scarring there, watching the mark transform numerous times. Different shapes, some that try and stretch past their limit to cover more of his back, and dark hairs curl just below the nape of his neck, more drops leaking from the ends and cascading down the delicate shape of his spine. New wounds bloom on his arms next, fresh blood stains that peel away his skin, giant strips of flesh that keep falling into the tub. The doors then open as the undead crawl inside on their hands and knees, vestiges of humans that are now in various stages of rot and decay. They groan, agonized and delirious, covering the sound of dripping water as they make their way to the tub.

The pristine white of the tiles grow muddied with black fluid that hardens and congeals fast over the surface. Giant pools of it flood the floor beneath their feet, growing ever larger, and fingernails caked in the same substance mark the edges of the tub, pawing frantically to get in and wash away the black liquid that seemingly pours forth out of every single pore. Ignis can only stand frozen as twin rivers of black roll towards him slowly like the appendages of a tentacled beast. Then two blue eyes draw towards him, fixing upon him with a look that can only be described as raw and wanting, and his own heart is left pounding away furiously while he struggles to make his legs move.

Whether it's to walk towards or away from him is something he hasn't decided yet, immobilized by the fear that there is no turning back from this point if he surrenders. The visage of a boy will be transformed into a man, and the man he called his brother will be called... what? No words come to mind as panic wells up inside, driven further by the hands that pull and tear at his clothes now. No, his skin. They press their dirty fingers into his forearms and his calves, start twisting the edges to break the surface and pull, _pull_ until Ignis wants to scream from the searing pain.

Both hands cover his mouth to silence his own cry, until he jolts in place inside the truck, realizing that it had rolled over some debris on the road. Rain gently taps at the window beside him, most likely accounting for the 'drip' sound that had kept plaguing him, but the world around is blissfully dark once more. It's been the same recurring dream for several nights now, making him feel as though he's straddling that precarious line between horror and arousal, and each time, it ends with the king bewitching him with an expression that looks foreign on Noctis' face, as though he'd been replaced by some daemon. 

The wanton beseeching does produce such an unsettling effect that his body simply cannot keep avoiding, no matter how many times he tries to will it to. It's starting to become a bit of a habit, one that he doesn't want to address because he knows the root of it is that one thought he'd already been evading for many years now, and having that vulnerability exposed is beyond worrisome. 

Feelings resurfacing in the wake of an absence, the longing being used against him. It is a bit cliched, yet here he is, trying to piece a fractured puzzle back together. It's never been about simple physical attraction, a matter that could be swept aside easily given how many admirers he'd chosen not to pursue over the years. Rather, it's the complicated layers between which that attraction lives in -the title of 'brother' and 'friend.' The need to co-exist and not go beyond those limits because to do so would place an untenable amount of risks given their roles in relation to one another. 

King Regis had trusted him long ago to groom his son for rule and to help guide him, and those responsibilities have always surpassed any other emotion. However, now that Noctis is coming into his own, he isn't sure if he can get by on the same excuses, and he knows without having it confirmed aloud that Noctis has a high potential of reciprocating but won't allow himself to because of whatever lingering feelings he may possess for his betrothed. The question is whether or not Noctis himself has really accepted that possibility or has revolted against it, but the words he won't say have always been laid bare in his eyes -and in lieu of being able to read them any more, it's still the silences Noctis gives him during critical moments that speak the loudest of all the king's doubts and confusions. 

The two of them are not much different than a pot that's been left to boil too long without careful monitoring, water simmering and growing restless beneath the metal lid meant to trap it. After so many years, that water has surpassed its boiling point and is starting to leak out from every end. He'll drown at this rate by his own insufferable silence on the matter, but there's not enough time to explore those idle curiosities. Between so much laughter and so much loss, Ignis has never had a moment's quiet until now to really contemplate the wild drumming of his heart, the memories of the different soft planes on Noctis' face and how lethal his eyes used to appear whenever they'd forcefully drag him into their endless blue abyss. A gaze like his could sear through any foe if he ever put force behind it, and it had been far more alluring to him than any other part of his body.

Though he wonders if it's just simple exhaustion from so many sleepless night's that's twisting his thoughts this way and that, destroying his focus with careless musings. He misses the boisterous and distracting chatter of his friends that would always cut through the tension built around them by dangerous situations such as this. Just a few days ago, he'd taken down a particularly large, vicious coeurl who had been rendered undead like the other beasts, partially daemonized and nearly impossible to kill. The rancid smell had been so potent that a single whiff of it had reached the bottom of his stomach fast, inspiring wave after wave of nausea. Only sheer will had kept his food from climbing up fast, and nothing short of a violent blaze had rendered the beast to ash. 

Fortunately, Noctis was keeping his armiger well-stocked with magic for his sake, something he hadn't expected him to be so diligent about. Then again, he's always been covertly considerate of others, the type of person who'd sneak presents where others would find them later and pretend not to have been the one to trouble himself to get them for him. He recalls finding a sac of freshly picked strawberries among his cooler ingredients once, ones he'd been sure he hadn't picked nor purchased. Prompto would have given them to him in person, and Gladio would have made the strawberry quest into a feat of strength and wits, leaving the identity of the culprit rather obvious. 

The truck finally comes to a stop when they reach the damp forest area around Duscae, and a hand lands on his shoulder as if to rouse him. He supposes it's difficult for others to tell whether or not he's awake given the dark glasses and the stillness with which he sits, but he does nod in appreciation nevertheless before climbing out of the truck on his own. The day's exploration offers a welcomed escape from the disturbing dreams, sweeping it all beneath a proverbial rug for another day. The present is always of greater concern, especially given the threat the environment poses, especially when Ignis can't tell one step from another. The normally colorful and vibrant terrain is muted by endless, unfolding paths, each indiscernible from the other, and Ignis knows nothing of the one he walks upon, only following the footsteps before him. 

The Marshal had stayed behind at their base camp near the border of Leide and Duscae, leaving him in the hands of several veteran hunters, one who'd even once been a member of the Kingsglaive. From the sound of his roughened and deep voice, he appears to be an older man, close to the Marshal's age. He'd introduced himself as Altan when they first met and had been acting as a guide for him, often tapping his forearm to get him to change direction or halting him whenever there's a stray branch or root in the terrain or a ravine. From a few exchanged conversations over camp fire, he knows the man had a son whom he'd lost in one of first few waves of attacks on Galahd by the Niflheim army. While most of the Kingsglaive had turned against the Lucian throne, he couldn't bring himself to join Niflheim and had fled the attack so he could live to fight them another day. Now that there are so few Niflheim soldiers remaining, he's retired to a life of hunting in the wilderness, thought it doesn't stop him from slaughtering every Niflheim soldier he comes across. 

More than once he'd commented how he wished his son had grown like Ignis, a sentiment that remains the most heartwarming in these trying evenings as they trudge through mud-slicked dirt roads and press deeper into the wetlands of Duscae. Only the idle chatter around him provides any form of entertainment as the water splashes across his hair and back. With the summer temperatures starting to fade, a chill tickles the back of his neck and tries to wedge its way down his spine while his fingers search for warmth inside his thick jacket. More drops heavily pelt against the frames of glasses, and his hair has to be swept aside, reminding him that it's been too long since he trimmed it. 

Altan's hand grips his forearm to halt him before he can take another step. He then roughly tugs him down and arranges his arms over his head as if to make him duck. 

"Something's up this way." 

The vibrating sounds against the ground should have alerted him, but the rain had been throwing him off. It's still a bit difficult to parse through sounds on days like these, but he feels the oncoming onslaught all the more with the growing quiver of several steps nearing -practically a stampede. The rain had also made it difficult to smell anything at a distance, fogging up his senses to the point of feeling useless next to the group of veteran hunters who all have their rifles at the ready. His hands move for his knives to join them, trying to piece together what creatures they might be. Too thunderous of a stampede for garulas. Something limber and quick... something large. As it nears, he only picks up the one pair of steps and none resounding after. 

"It's getting closer," Ignis comments before skulking back, feeling the shrubbery swallow him in and conceal him. Altan moves in front of him protectively while the rest of the hunter's quiet down. The vibrations grow stronger and more abrasive as the source starts to peek through. Plants around it bend and break upon its arrival as it lets out a strong huff of a breath through its nose that Ignis can't immediately place. His mind is already reviewing the internal bestiary from when he'd last explored these lands with the other three, but he had paid more attention to their appearance back then rather than what sounds the creatures make. He hadn't thought he'd ever need more than that to identify them. 

He wants to ask what it is, but the sudden tight and tense grip on his forearm from Altan indicates he shouldn't risk it at the moment. Whatever it is, it seems unlikely to miss the slightest hint of noise from any direction, and he hears its steps grow closer, a louder nasal exhalation echo through the forest before a low growl rumbles from its throat, which is far more familiar to him than anything else. 

_A behemoth_ , he acknowledges to himself, his heart starting to race with the implications. Could Deadeye have risen like so many other deceased creatures? It had been a feat to kill it back when they first encountered it. How will they manage when its been granted immortality through unnatural means? The thought is difficult to ignore and not grow panicked by, but he quells the surge of unease and terror, clenching his hands at his side and bidding himself not to breathe too loudly. The other hunters also take the cue to remain still as the creature whirls it's head and sniffs the surrounding terrain. He can hear its nostrils flaring up, the measured steps as it pushes its snout against the foliage.

Its growl increases in volume as it takes another booming step, and Ignis feels the hot air from its mouth hit him, the curl of disease and rot on its breath that leaves his head feeling dazed and disoriented. He'd been careful to bathe with unscented products and not cook anything prior to hunts, but the odor of sweat is one he can't mitigate, especially after driving around so long in cramped trunks and traversing lands filled with all sorts of predators. It must be starting to pick up on it as it sniffs even closer, and where heat would normally be emanating from its monstrous body, Ignis feels nothing at all. 

Fortunately, the rain manages to cloud its senses just as much as it starts to turn away. That is, until a gunshot rings out, the sharp sound of it exploding through the silent tension that had shrouded the rest of them. Ignis can't tell who it came from in all the chaos that ensues after as the behemoth starts thundering in the direction of the sound. Footsteps pound in every other direction around him followed by more gunshots, all fired out of fear and not deliberation, eager to kill the behemoth before it kills any of them. 

One of Ignis' knives is clutched tight in his grip, the ornate hilt solid underneath his fingers while Altan tugs him away and leads him from the beast. "They'll never succeed," he murmurs in anger before taking off into a frantic sprint. Ignis tries to follow behind, keenly aware of where the man is going and keeping up pace, but he knows they won't get far. The behemoth is already in hard pursuit with the gunshots doing nothing to slow it down. 

"Run!" Altan keeps shouting, his voice hoarse and desperate, and his breathing grows labored before him, only matched by the Behemoth's vicious snarl that erupts from behind. 

Before Ignis can even try and assess the situation properly, he's tossed onto the ground, covered swiftly by Altan. An explosion rocks through the surrounding terrain, the sound so loud that Ignis is almost deafened by it, ears left ringing loudly, and the weight of Altan's body is suffocating as his face is pressed into the mud, rain smacking violently over the both of him. His glasses slowly slide away, but he pays them no mind, only trying to swallow down the familiarity of the situation. 

_Altissia... the sight of Ardyn's cruel, jester-like grin. His face had been among the last he'd ever seen before Noctis' face..._

The memory leaves him stunned even as Altan tries to tug him off the ground to run. He hears a new eruption of gunshots, this time from Altan who seemingly tries to slow the beast down. "Run!" he continues to urge, but Ignis doesn't want to leave, refusing to be paralyzed by memory. Instead, a flask starts to appear in where his knife was, a potent spell that he tosses sharply in the direction of the Behemoth before hearing the resounding new set of explosions. The fury of fire licking the ground, smoke curling beneath his nose, the sizzle of burnt flesh followed by lightning that crashes. 

It's his turn to drag Altan out of the way as the strike starts to spread, the ground buzzing and sizzling from the powerful currents. Whether or not it's a direct impact, he can't tell, only thinking of survival at the moment as he takes off running with Altan in tow. The rumbling steps follow, the creature's wails and rage-fueled growls spilling out without relent. Ignis doesn't bother trying to gauge its distance, continuing to launch himself forward before his feet give out. A mud-covered steep hill drags him down, his body rolling and roughly sliding down until he reaches the base. By then, he's lost Altan's location, unable to hear the older man, all sounds drowned out by the growing storm above them. 

Real thunder breaks out overhead, the rainfall strengthening to drench Ignis as he forces himself up on his feet. It's difficult to ignore the chill, and he wants to search for Altan and the other hunters but there's no way for him to hear them at all. His fingers claw around, searching frantically for his phone, only to realize it had fallen out completely, lost somewhere with his glasses. All he has on him is his wallet, the clothes on his back, and Noctis' armiger arsenal. The odds aren't in his favor as he tries to run for some shelter, unsure of where he's even going. The ground continues to give way to mud holes and puddles, soaking his feet practically to his knees as he trudges along until he hears nothing but the rain smacking against the wilderness around him. No birds crying, no roars, no movement. 

His panted breaths spill out fast, lungs burning as he runs even further as though he might reach civilization if he keeps going, but he knows that's such a frail hope to cling to. He'd sooner run towards his death than any signs of life, but he has no idea what else to do. This whole time, there had always been someone to guide him -show him to the car, stay by his side, call out to him. In the absence of all that, he only has himself to rely on, and the terror ensnares him with its tight, unforgiving grip, making him wish he'd never agreed to go in the first place. However, it had been neccessary. Because of his contributions, they'd learned much about the nature of these undead creatures, information he needs to relay to Noctis and the others, though there's still so many mysteries lying in wait, such as location the daemon that started it all to begin with. They'd been getting closer, narrowing a few prime areas of infestation in western Duscae and closer to Cleigne. If they'd just been able to keep on going, without a doubt, they would have found out the cause. 

It's difficult to face the real possibility of death out here, if not by an undead behemoth than by dehydration. All their supplies are back in the truck which could be anywhere from meters to over a mile away. It's difficult to gauge without his phone's navigation system on it. If he hadn't dropped it, he could have easily been able to retrace his steps. Now, what can he do? 

His body sags helplessly, sinking down against the nearest tree and letting the raindrops smack into him as though welcoming their punishing strike. It's hard to suppress the shivers raking through his body from beneath his damp clothes, especially as the rain leaves no part of him dry. It must be getting late already as the temperature starts to plummet a bit more dramatically, though Ignis knows that can't be right. It had been early afternoon when they arrived. Evening should have been a few more hours away. Not to mention, it's unusually cold for this area in early September.

Is he growing delirious? He tries to convince himself the cold is merely a product of his mental state as he hugs his arms tighter around himself and tries to think. He'd walked through these parts before. Secullam's Pass is close by, and he knows he's around Thummel's Glade. If he finds the road, he can at least hitchhike his way to Lestallum and contact the others there. It's just a matter of going further west. He'll feel it as the sun sets, though that may be impossible if the weather is like this. Perhaps, waiting it out is the best course of action, though it's difficult to find any rest as he keeps quaking in place. Both his hands try and rub heat into his arms as his teeth chatter noisily, and he tugs his legs up close, gratefulf for the fact that he's too anxious to feel hunger at the moment. The only sensation wrapped around his body is the blistering cold that sinks straight into his bones as though frozen icicles were piercing through every inch of his body, and his legs and fingers grow number by the second until he realizes that it's not his imagination. 

_It's magic...!!_

His body shoots up with a start, whirling around and looking for the source, though he can't hear anyone or anything close by. The rain still drowns out all noises, filling him with increasing worry as he summons his knives to his hands while remaining ready to strike at the slightest provocation. 

"So lively, the king's precious friend," a familiar voice lilts near his ear, the tone more playful than threatening. 

Arms wind around his body, crawling forward until they embrace him, increasing the amount of chill swelling fast under his skin until Ignis is certain his heart won't be able to bare the rapid temperature drop much longer. "Do you believe yourself to die here today? The king needs you." 

Ignis' eyes widen, recalling the last time he'd been pursued by the voretooths close to this very area. " _You_ -" he whispers, voice sounding so uncertain beneath the wavering consonants that uneasily slide off his tongue, "from before..."

"And even before then. Many times before our paths crossed yet not like this." 

The frost winds expand, covering a substantial radius around him, and he hears multiple voices tittering in amusement. Several hands touch him now, stroking his cheek and brushing through his hair until a third set lands on either side of his neck, pulling him forward. 

"She chose you because she knew you'd be able to withstand the worst of trials and remain unwavering by the king's side. The one who sees beyond what lies before him, you know what path you must take. You have been leading yourself along it this entire time." 

Lips from behind touch the back of his ear, wrangling out a deep-seated shiver that almost makes Ignis' knees buckle. "The path is within reach. Walk to the throne of fire."

"Guide the king," the third voice speaks out, and the frozen-wrapped body pushes close to his arm before suddenly yanking him forward another couple of steps, and he sees himself as a small child, running along a path, Noctis' young face glancing back at him from over his shoulder. He's being pulled along the Citadel courtyard while the young prince's uninhibited laughter peals outwards. 

"Come on, Ignis!" the voice cries out, and Ignis struggles to keep up, worrying he'll trip and let go of the boy's hand. His fingers squeeze even harder around it as he pushes his legs, starting to feel the burn of exertion climb up and down his muscles. He pitches forward with as much vigor as he can muster until he collapses to the ground, and suddenly, the world is doused in fire. Flames move over his skin and dance across his cheeks and eyelids as he crawls. The liquid moving along his elbows and kneels feels like pure lava, and it eats away at his flesh fast as a scream starts to bubble in his throat. 

When he looks up, there's something larged carved out of stone, an indecipherable crag with molten lava spilling out that he balks at until the entire structure dissolves quickly. The ash blows across his face, rendering his vision black and leaving Ignis a quaking mess while he pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes. "What is this?" he asks in a voice that feels too frail to be his own. 

"Dreams show what your heart both fears and desires. Is it any surprise you dream of the king in both circumstances?" 

No, it's never been a surprise, but he also hadn't wanted to believe there was any greater imperative emerging from those dreams. Subconscious yearning, yes, but nothing close to prophecy. Rather than confirming her words, he fits the puzzle pieces into place at last as his arms fall feebly to his side. His whole posture is more of a lost child than a man ready to stare a goddess in the face. "The Glacian," he says quietly before being grateful he can't see. It makes it easier to behold her visage without being overwhelmed by the magnitude of it. 

"There are others yet left wanting to test the king. They feel spurned by his survival. When he did not complete his sacrifice, he turned away from his fate. They fear another like the Usurper rises." 

The dreams... Noctis' unusual expression in them, absent of any kindness or sincerity. That had been stripped from him, and instead, he always looked unbearably predatory, like a beast caught in its slow yet limber advance. 

"In time, fear and uncertainty may even bring him to his knees before a wrathful god." 

In a time long ago, gods could move whole armies to their bidding, treating humans like war fodder. He'd read of the devastation that mapped much of the early world as humans were driven to their graves in droves. Would Noctis be coerced to raise his sword against the people he promised to protect? While he wants to believe he would never, he's a man yet broken by many losses. Those dreams would not be so recurrent if he weren't susceptible to the thrall of the forsaken. 

"It's quite a bit to absorb." 

"Accept it long before the time has past. You have seen the army of the undead rising, stronger and more relentless than the daemons you fought in Gralea. Be ready." 

Those fading words tickle his skin, leaving him with a final tremble before the frozen sensation is practically sucked right out of him. Whether or not the goddess still hovers by is something he can't discern as his hands refuse to blindly paw at the air in front or around him, but he does find the strength to move once more, pausing as the ball of his foot comes into contact with the edge of the road. Somehow, he'd managed to get himself to the pass... or had he been taken there? The whole exchange had left him far too disoriented to separate reality from mere visions, wishing blinking alone could clear his 'sight.' But he feels no further enlightened than he was moments ago even with the threads the Glacian had used to link him to not only the king but the oracle. Where is he supposed to guide the king? 

_'The throne of fire...'_ What does that mean? His shoulders sag heavily as he lets the afternoon air start to warm him up. By the time the sun starts to sink behind the horizon line, he's practically dead on his feet from exhaustion and sits by the roadside, waiting for the sound of an oncoming car. The only thing that rouses him is the sudden quiver of the ground, a powerful tremor racking through his body that is definitely not from the cold this time. Both his hands lay flat on the asphalt as though he could somehow measure the ferocity of its shaking that way. With Titan free from the Cauthess Disc, there should be no Seismic activity in this region any longer. Unless... his eyes drift up out of habit towards where he believes his next destination lies in wait. 

He must speak to the king at once. 

 

 **015.**

 

The news hits them all without warning, hands wrung together, brows mutually furrowed with worry as they gather in the Citadel's conference room. Cor speaks on the other side of the call, the veteran crownsguard's voice sounding as solemn as ever.

"-most of the crew had been murdered. Ignis was found about a mile and a half away from the carnage, sitting barely conscious on the side of the road." 

Noctis has never known any greater relief than those words, the air whooshing out of him at once as he subtly unclenches his fist. His mind still spins in place, a whirl of words, colored walls, distorted images, and while he should mourn the fallen hunters, it doesn't override the fact that his friend is still alive. When they'd received no response for him in days, they'd all began to despair, but the Marshal had assured him they were doing everything they could to search for the missing hunters. Nearly every fallen body from the excursion had been recovered along with the dog tags to send to their family members. The cause of death had been reported as an infected behemoth that had scrambled far from its lair. Why it was so far west is still a mystery, the hunters left wondering if it was pursuing something that way. However, given its undead state, it has no real reason to prey on anything, so its motives are completely baffling. No one had been able to take it down and bring its body in for examination, but there's great demand for it. 

The hunt is the furthest thing from his mind as he asks to speak with Ignis, wanting to confirm he's really there himself. If he could, he'd take Prompto and Gladio to meet him at the hunter's headquarters, but that's not an option at the moment. They have to prioritize the safety of their people first, a fact that he has to keep hammering into his own brain in spite of what his own impulsions might dictate. There's no room for his capriciousness anymore, but it doesn't mean he can stop himself from feeling soothed by Ignis' perpetually calm and steady voice on the other line. 

"Noct," he starts quietly, "I normally wouldn't advise you to abandon your current duties and leave Insomnia, but there are some things I wish to speak to you about. Matters that would be best discussed face to face." 

That makes Noctis balk in response as he'd been certain Ignis was about to tell him the opposite. 

"You didn't hit your head out there, did you?" 

After all, the person who implored him to stay the most had been Ignis. It must be bad if it's not something he can share over the phone, and Noctis feels his skin prickle as though being stabbed by multiple saftey pins. 

"Possibly, but that has nothing to do with why I wish to speak with you in person. Bring Prompto and Gladio with you." 

As if those two would let him step out of the Citadel unguarded, though Noctis can't say he's looking forward to the trip as much as he normally would be. Too much tension grips his heart tight, squeezing inwards and making it hard to breathe as he ends the call. He should have said he missed him or that they were all worried... that they thought for a while that they'd never see him again. The fear had choked him up inside, making him regret how many days had passed where he kept his lips so sealed, fussing with the right words inside of his head, wanting to take the chance before all his time runs out on this plane. 

Yet all that had come out was a dumb tease, one that barely scrapes the surface of the current litany of thoughts running through his head, the most prominent being the regret he still feels not having gotten the chance to speak to Luna. What if Ignis had disappeared just like that? Their last words to each other would have been meaningless, wasted consonants and syllables, none of which accurately describe the bundle of complications that Noctis wants to unload somewhere, _sometime_ , some day. It's always in a vague, distant future because he hasn't really decided what most of them are or if they are worth giving any validation to. It'd be easier not to say anything at all, but he's tired of being uncertain and afraid. 

In some occasions, it's better to surrender to raw impulse, and right now, his greatest desire is to see, hear, _feel_ his friend in person to the point where he barely wastes time rounding up Prompto and Gladio. 

"We got to move," he tells them, and Prompto follows him like a curious shadow as Noctis tries to find some inconspicuous clothes to travel in. 

His old fatigues were burned up in the wreckage, and he doesn't want to call attention to himself in his royal attire. 

"For a guy who's in a hurry, you sure are taking a while to pick out an outfit. Are we going on a rescue mission or taking you on a date?" 

Noctis' eyes roll exaggeratedly at the comment, waving it off. "Not everyone can pull off bargain bin clothes like you."

"Hey, I'll have you know this is totally what's in right now." 

A mock pose follows that comment that earns a sincere laugh from Noctis. Even though they're both practically dancing around one another with tension, they can't afford to lose their sense of humor. Sometimes, it's the only thing keeping all four of them sane after all they'd been through, and Noctis is clinging to the pull of a smile around his own lips as he finally drags a fairly plain t-shirt on over some jeans. It's the most nondescript outfit in his wardrobe with a cap for added stealth. 

Gladio is already waiting for them by his car as they make their way to the outside of the Citadel. It's too early for anyone outside of the Kingsglaive to be wandering about, leaving them ample room to drive out with little to no notice, a relief as Noctis can hardly use the bathroom these days without someone hounding him. How did his father put up with the constant scrutiny of both the press and the Lucians at large? It hadn't taken him more than two days to miss the privacy and quiet of the road with only the sounds of Gladio's occasional snoring reverberating through the car. Anything is better than microphones and tape recorders in his face or people asking him for a comprehensive plan on the reconstruction project of Insomnia, something he'd admittedly left to outside contractors to really decide because he doesn't know anything at all about the subject -only that he wants to make the city stable and fortified for his people to live in. 

The whirl of the engine is a welcomed interruption, the three of them strapping themselves in to take off towards Leide. Gladio's hands grip the steering wheel knuckle-white as his jaw sets in a firm linet. For a long time, no one speaks, almost as if though any sound at all might alert anyone to their activities. It's their first real trip out of Insomnia since they came back, and the world outside already looks so much different than when they left it.

There's an eerie calm, the quiet that settles before a torrential storm and threatens to close in on them from all sides. Their dome of fragile peace is already giving away little by little as the road is bereft of any sabertusks running by or the buzzing of perilous insects. The heat feels all the more oppressive as it presses through the car invasively, making Noctis nostalgic for the cool comfort of the Regalia. His father had fitted it with the best air condition he could manage as he used to sweat in so many heavy layers of suits and capes, the kind that Noctis still feels uneasy wearing. He'd all too easily trade in his royal garb for his regular clothes and sink into the back of the Regalia again with a sense of belonging that he had yet to achieve in the Citadel. Perhaps, that is because the Citadel now feels like a monument to all the fallen from the Niflheim attack instead of a home. There are few pleasant memories that live inside those halls, but the Regalia held all of his best. 

Once they start to approach Hammerhead, Prompto predictably shuffles from his spot in the backseat and pokes his head in between his own seat and Gladio's. 

"I know what you're going to say," Gladio interrupts, "and we're not stopping." 

"Oh, come on! Might as well fill up the tank and get some breakfast while we're out on the road." 

Noctis' lips quirk in amusement, wondering if he should pull rank for his friend. It's not everyday he can make the guy genuinely happy, which bids him to chime in on the matter, "Ignis is fine and in one piece. He's not going anywhere, and you can't say you don't want to stop, too." 

"Vetoed." 

"Argh, but Cindy always gives us discounts on gas!" Prompto argues, "Do you want to overpay at the next station?" 

The older man heaves out a sigh as he starts to head for the proper exit to Hammerhead. "Breakfast and maybe ten minutes of awkward flirting tops. Use that time wisely." 

Prompto balks at the insinuation before poking his head over Gladio's shoulder to make a face at him -one that he wants Gladio to see. 

"Wha? My flirting is not-! I mean, I'm just going to say hi. Maybe ask her how she's doing?" 

"Right, right." 

Gladio sounds unconvinced, but he does pull inside the Hammerhead station to grab some food for the road. Noctis gives Prompto some alone time to hover around Cindy while mouthing the words 'You owe me one.' His own destination is the diner to meet with Takka and see what he's picked up about the area. His body sinks into one of the stools heavily as he waits to grab the older man's attention, eyes momentarily drifting around to the other customers. If any of them recognize him at all, they don't show it, barely giving him a second glance let alone a first.  

"Well, well, never thought I'd see the day I'd get to serve the King of Lucis," Takka finally greets with a grin before turning to a pot on his stove, "You can be the first to try my new jumbalaya recipe."

Noctis' eyes shift around again, making extra sure the other occupants didn't catch wind of any of that. Most of them are truckers and local hunters who probably aren't looking for tourism photos with the new king anyway, but he still doesn't feel much ease at being outed like this. 

Spotting his discomfort, Takka gives him an apologetic look before scooping up the pot's contents into a bowl. "It's on the house. 'least I could do for you. The rebuilding of Insomnia's brought in a lot of business, though folks out here in Leide are afraid to wander out any longer. Plenty of bad things out there." 

That gives Noctis pause as he blows on the edge of the bowl set down in front of him, his stomach already awakening to the rich scent of spices. It's too bad he dumped a whole heap of vegetables in there, but the broth and giant meat chunks do well to drown it out. "What sort of bad things?" 

"Grotesque creatures moving about. The night used to bring all those horrors, but now, I'm not so sure. A family was stranded here after one attacked. He said the creature was the foulest smelling he'd ever encountered. They were en route to the coronation."  
That those creatures are swarming around this area is unsurprising, but Noctis still doesn't like the idea that they might be multiplying beyond population control. If the light has no effect on them, then that means there is little that can stave them off. His face pulls into a deep frown, one he hides behind a spoonful of jumbalaya before the spiciness of the broth threatens to rip apart his taste buds. His eyes water noticeably as he forces himself to swallow it down, and before he can even ask, Takka puts down a bottle of milk in front of him. 

"It's got a bit of a kick, doesn't it? I call it 'the Leiden Supernova' after you -a Leiden coronation special." 

Noctis isn't sure what part of him invokes the image of exploding stars, but it does sound pretty intense. He can't complain, though he's sure Prompto would like this mouthful of flames more than he does. His fingers grasp the milk to chug it down before Gladio and Prompto finally join him to eat. They sit on either side of him, grinning and greeting Takka as he pours them both bowls. 

"Tank's full, Prompto's ego's battered. We ready to go?" 

"Just finishing up here," Noctis wheezes between bites, and he's certain his face has turned red enough to match the broth. Too much sweat starts to stain his brow and run down his neck, wondering who would even want to eat food this spicy in the desert. However, as his eyes flicker off to the side where Prompto is practically inhaling his own portion, the answer becomes painfully clear. 

Not even a flinched or a shed tear. How does he do it? 

"Wow, this is really good! You okay, Noct?" 

No, he's obviously not, but he bites back a sarcastic comment and just fixes a sour look on the blond. Gladio looks equally drenched next to him, grimacing after each bite even though he does his best to maintain an unflappable facade. Noctis can see right through him easily, especially when the flush on his skin practically extends down to his shoulders. 

They finish up their portions as quickly as they can manage with two of them holding in their tears before they hit the road again. Noctis takes the lead in driving while reporting Takka's findings to the other two. 

"Looks like they've reached as far east of Duscae to Hammerhead. He said there was a whole infestation of them."

Prompto's hands are on the back of his seat, gripping the leather tightly before sticking his head between the seats once more. "Maybe I ought to stick around there and help the hunters out. Monica can handle the training, and she's got help already." 

It's true that Prompto should be addressing the more immediate threat instead of being cooped with the rest of them in Insomnia, but Noctis can't escape the impending loneliness. With all his friends out and about, who's going to help lighten the mood around him by making dumb jokes or teasing him mercilessly when he screws up? While he could live without the latter, he can't deny that Prompto's always had been able to make him smile through the worst. The thought of losing him too -no, losing him _again_ \- is a little difficult to bear. He had a hard enough time holding it together when he shoved him off the train on the way to Gralea and had nearly taken his friend's life. Because of him, Prompto had suffered so much to the point where Noctis wondered if he'd have been better off had they never met at all.

As much as he wants to believe the opposite is true, it's always been a niggling fear that creeps on him at the worst of times, wishing he could somehow undo all the damage he'd caused them. All the tears rung loose from their eyes. All the scars and nightmares they'll have to live with. They don't deserve any of it and had already sacrificed so much because of him, but he also knows he can't always cling to them forever.  

"Yeah... that's a good idea," Noctis finally replies, albeit the words are drawn out slowly as his fingers tighten on the steering well. 

Gladio's snort erupts from the passenger seat before he grumbles, "You're leaving me alone on king-sitting duty. Guess it's up to me to make sure this guy doesn't get his cape stuck in the fridge door again." 

A hand reaches out to ruffle his hair playfully while Noctis swats away the offensive appendage. "How do you think I feel, having to be the only one pretending to be interested in your stories?" 

Gladio lets out an amused chuckle this time before stretching out in his seat. "Okay, smart ass, just keep your eyes on the road." 

Words Ignis would have told him, and they'd been feeling his loss acutely for a while now. It's still makes him uneasy having to let Prompto go too, but there are too many lives at stake now. Neither of them are any closer to figuring out what's infecting the local wildlife or why. Hopefully, Ignis had found something out in the past couple of months -at least, he assumes that's why his friend sounded so urgent on the phone. It's not like Ignis to pull him away from his duties for anything frivolous, and the uncertainty leaves a cloying beast at the bottom of of his stomach, sharp claws pressing into the walls of delicate tissue and scraping downwards, an effect that's exacerbated by the jumbalaya he had for breakfast. 

They reach the hunter's headquarters by dusk, the sky a myriad of blues and purples as the moon's light starts to creep along the horizon. Stars twinkle overhead, far brighter than they do in the city, and Noctis realizes just how much he'd missed the sight of the night sky in Leide. It's difficult not to simply stand there and soak it all in, feeling the pull of nostalgia as he steps out of the car. Several hunters are already awaiting them, gesturing for them to follow, and Noctis heads into the hut where Ignis is first while the other two split up to get a status report on the situation from Cor. 

Nostalgia quickly mutates into relief at the sight of Ignis completely unharmed, though his skin looks slightly sunburnt. His lips are dry and chapped, the surface peeled off as though he'd been gnawing on it while his hair is in a disarray that he previously wouldn't have allowed under any circumstances. Rather than acknowledging him at all, Ignis listens carefully to something on his headphones and makes careful verbal notations on his cell phone. 

"...4.1 magnitude recorded at 13:21... 4.1 magnitude recorded at 13:56..." 

His body remains still as he continues to dictate, only the sight of Ignis' uncovered eyes twitching with his steps giving him any indication that he knows he's there. Of course, Ignis would recognize his presence by now, but it's strange that his earlier urgency had dissolved completely.

"Ignis?" he tries, his voice quiet, as though he's afraid to disturb whatever he's doing.

"Noct." His finger pauses the phone's recording as he removes the headphones. "There is an increase in seismic activity around Ravatogh. It's not a dormant formation by any means, but the irregularities may imply an oncoming eruption or something else more critical from within." 

"Is this what you couldn't tell me over the phone?" 

He doesn't see why he had to come out all the way here to talk about Ravatogh. Not unless there's some connection between the rock and the undead creatures now roaming about the land freely. 

"The irregularities began the exact time you awoke from the hospital, down to the very minute and have steadily been growing stronger since. Ravatogh hasn't been this active in centuries." 

The implication makes him swallow hard around an expanding lump in his throat, hoping the fact that he had chosen to awake that day isn't causing a chain reaction that will affect the whole planet. The words _'You were never meant to defy fate'_ echo through his mind, a solemn chorus that repeats itself as he tries to face his deepest fear. 

"I wasn't supposed to live," he says quietly, startling the both of them, but the truth is often a straight dagger to the gut, pinioned into his entrails and slowly twisting in place to bleed him dry. 

Ignis reacts with just as much trepidation, his brows stitched together while he trains his empty stare on him. "Do you regret having survived?" 

It's the question he's wrestled for over a year now, knowing he could have easily stayed with Luna in their dreamscape, fulfilling whatever childish fantasies they both had, but it would be too easy to accept a fate that was free of any complications. Could they have been happy together had they both lived and married like they were supposed to? Probably, but the opposite is just as true. Maybe they would have fallen out of love just as quickly as they would have fallen into it. Maybe Noctis' complicated feelings for his friend would have surfaced regardless of whether or not he was with her. Ruminating over the possibilities won't fix the fragmented present. 

"I can't go back even if I wanted to. I need to stop running away."

The fantasy bubble popped a long time ago making him realize that dreams have no place for him. His throne shared with Luna, the room drowned by sylleblossoms, the look of adoration in her eyes... it just wasn't meant for him. Still, he can't resist the silent apology that flickers through his mind, wishing he could have given her a happier future, a better fate than what she had endured, but this is the hand they were dealt. 

Ignis' worried frown transforms into something more contemplative, the pale color of his eyes almost providing a window to the gears turning behind them. For a long time, the older man says nothing at all before reaching out with gentle fingers to touch his face. At first, his thumb moves over his eyes, stroking across half-closed lids before drawing along the angle of his nose until the soft skin touches over his mouth, brushing repeatedly along his top lip. It's difficult to breathe under the weight of that touch, all the air in his body halted at his throat while Noctis is silently grateful that Ignis can't see what he looks like at the moment.

He's certain his skin is starting to react, the fresh bloom of heat erupting across the surface while he thinks of anything to say to shatter the moment rather than surrender to it. It would be too easy to lean over -press his mouth to Ignis,' devour their friendship whole between their lips and taste the regret on Ignis' tongue. But the uncertainty latches onto him tight, holds him in a firm grip where he can't move a muscle, only watch and feel a punctuated sense of longing that rapidly grows more and more chaotic by the second. 

_'I want this'_ is the awakening realization that tangles his thoughts into tight knots, trying to find every excuse why he shouldn't give in. _'Too complicated, too risky, too little, too late, too soon, too much...'_

Fortunately, Ignis' hand leaves his face, and the distance is back between them, a wide valley of unspoken words that separate them while Noctis finally exhales. 

"Forgive me, I was curious what sort of face you were making as you said those words that seemed unlike you. Perhaps, you really are finally maturing." 

It's hard not to feel sheepish, remnants of a flare licking across his cheeks while Noctis brushes his hand across the back of his own neck. His eyes leave Ignis' fast, and even though he knows the older man can't see him at all, he still feels all too naked and vulnerable in front of him at the moment. 

"Had to grow up eventually." 

A soft laugh follows those words as he eyes the slowly forming smile that spreads on Ignis' face. It's been too long since he'd seen him looking this at ease and equally too long since they'd gotten to speak this frankly with one another. It's almost easy to forget the looming threat like this, but an alert from the machine Ignis had been listening to startles the two of them out of their revelry. He watches as his friend scrambles to put the headphones back on and try to record the magnitude. 

"Only minutely more powerful. We should investigate." 

The gravity in his voice has returned, and Noctis struggles to stay cool, nodding once even though he knows his friend can't see it. Words elude him too fast, wondering if he really will have to accept death or try and defy fate a second time. How long before the Astrals tire of him dancing around them? They're clearly upset about his choice, though his mind drifts back to the dream he had when he'd been in the hospital. That armored figure with wings made of blades, stoically floating before him. Up until now, he never thought to ask who he is or why he came to him. A messenger or...? 

_An Astral?_

He hadn't appeared to him since then, so it may have been something his mind conjured up. It's difficult to tell. His reality has been warped for several years now to the point where he sometimes thinks he's been living in a dream that started when he was attacked by Marilith, one that's difficult to want to wake up from at the moment as he watches Ignis' face run through a gamut of different emotions, ones he'd never seen before. Ones he wants to remember, though a photo would never do the images justice. It might be a silly, awakening urge, but it's impossible to deny that such an urge doesn't exist. 

However, there are more pressing concerns to focus on, ones that fray his nerves to raw threads as he prepares to order the other two to come with them towards the Rock of Ravatogh. There's something up there waiting for them, and he isn't sure if he's ready to face it yet.


	4. Chapter 4

**016.**

 

Two identical statues stand on either side of the entrance of an eroded stone temple, both monstrously large with their hands held out, palms faced up to the heavens. Ignis steps in between them, dwarfed by their impressive size as the sun makes their shadows stretch out for several meters. The doorway in between is locked tight, a familiar engraving etched into it that Ignis recalls having seen time and time again. Still, his hands move over the shapes, feeling over the stylized swirls and curves, following over the pattern until he sees where the key hole rests. This must be one of the royal tombs, one he hasn't been to yet because the land around it is a wasteland of sand and fire, not another soul for miles. Only the quiet wail of birds in the distance provides any companionship as well as the whisper of a wind that barely ruffles his hair and clothes.

The heat beats down on him with crushing force, milking loose drops of sweat from his pores as he struggles to figure out how or why he ended up here. Had he taken a train at any point? No, he recalls laying down the night before in the caravan under a blanket of snores and exhaled breaths from above. Noctis had fallen asleep across from him, the sound of his quiet breaths the most familiar out of all four. It had been the last sound he'd remembered clinging to before ending up in this wasteland.

His eyes continue to skim the landscape, finding tall swords in the ground, deeply buried as though they were standing in place of tombstones. A whole valley of them is revealed before him, trying to see where they end or if they even end. A battle was fought here, long before he'd ever been born, but he knows not which one. 

"Why am I being shown this?" he asks to no one in particular and doesn't expect any answer at all. Since when have his dreams offered any clarity? Rather, they tend to raise more questions, leaving him feeling as though he's drowning within the sand itself, being swallowed by the hot grains. It devours both his legs fast until he falls through, his body colliding with the ground below hard. Pain explodes through his limbs and spine as he looks upwards in a panic only to feel more sand fall onto his eyes and face. He rubs furiously at his vision, trying to remove the grains while all the swords start to cascade down onto him, too. 

Instead of outright piercing through him, they float their way down, rotating in a mock impression of Noctis' armiger, the edges yellow-lit. The spiral grows larger, more luminous, the brightness of each sword's ember stretching out around the room until Ignis can barely see past the yellow veil, and he's forced to cover his face and recoil. Then one of the larger blades falls forth, striking the ground fast between his legs and only narrowly snagging the fabric of his pants. His eyes widen in shock, following the line of the sword and watching it as the bright gleam hugging around it transforms the sword into a trident.

_Luna's trident._

He recalls the shape well after having watched her wield it upon the altar in Altissia, one of the last few things he saw before his vision had been permanently damaged. He wonders what it's doing in his dream, fingers rising to brush over the length of it before he sees two eyes slowly blink open at him. The rest of the body and face they're attached to is obscured by brightness, a penumbra encasing the form that nearly blinds Ignis once more, but the eyes are soft and blue, reminding him of the King's. 

"I await he who defied fate," the voice speaks, the sound booming and layered, as though many beings are speaking at once, "Will he seek the covenant? Will he even be of worth? The Chosen he was but perhaps no longer."

It doesn't take much contemplation to decipher who the figure speaks of, and Ignis tenses in place, struggling to stand up beneath the overbearing weight of the light rays stabbing through him. "He has not turned his back on the gods' will." 

"Yet he chose you instead of sacrifice, and so the darkness remains as does its forsaken god." 

Forsaken god... his eyes shut briefly, trying to focus as much as he can. The pages of the cosmogony offer quick glimpses, words he read and studied as a child. The blessed and anointed first king, the Hexatheon. They only encountered four out of six. That must mean-

"The Draconian," he says, standing up more firmly. Not in defiance but out of realization, "You chose him."

"I chose him long before he was conceived and waited for his ascension." 

But Noctis didn't complete their will as he should have. The words Noctis had spoken the day before revolve in his mind as his fingers curl at his sides. How long had Noctis himself had known? Was he ever planning on telling them? 

"Are you coming to collect on what was promised to you?" 

His gut steels for the answer that is awaiting him, fearing the worst. 

"His fate is no longer in my hands, but he may one day walk down the same path of the Usurper." 

A fate far worse than death. Those words don't have to be spoken out loud to know it's what they both fear, and it's enough to incur the wrath of the Draconian who had done all in his power to try and quell the darkness -anointing the king and the oracle, granting the king the crystal and the ring, preparing them all for their destiny. Now, so many uncertainties lie in their fate, and without thinking, his fingers close around the trident, clenching it hard in his grip. 

"I will not let him," Ignis swears, his voice finally take on an edge of defiance. 

Even if it means having to slay his friend himself, this is all he can do to protect their people, but he's sure it won't have to come to that. _He can't let it._

"Bold words from the sightless. Then prove the resolve of both King and Oracle." 

The booming phrase presses hard into the forefront of his mind, leaving a deep imprint as Ignis' body jerks upwards in the cramped bunk, his head nearly colliding with the bunk above. In his hands, there's something heavy and long, the familiar weight of it balanced between his curled fingers before it dissolves into particles that make his skin tingle. By now, he's started to become used to the strange dreams, enough that he can swallow down the frightened gasp trying to erupt out of him and quell the quivering ends of his limbs as he breathes out slowly. For a long time, his body stays motionless, simply inhaling and exhaling while he tries to carefully examine all the clues. 

The desert, the tomb... it wasn't Leide. Far more barren and covered in swords like graves. A battlefield, then. He remembers the fallen nation of Solheim had extended into the desert, the land that used to surround Gralea before the Glacian was felled. Beneath the snow once lay an arid landscape that stretched for miles without end. There must be a tomb out there, one that went unnoticed by them. That's where they should go next rather than the Rock of Ravatogh. Noctis needs it to prepare for what lies ahead, though it doesn't fail to catch his notice that the Draconian had said both the King and Oracle in his dream.

_The words in the mirror._

Words Luna had written to him. Did she choose him to take her place? 

The signs had been there all along, yet he'd been ignoring them for the sake of sanity. However, he can't deny all the anomalies that have occurred since Noctis had awoken once more. Dreams, visions, hallucinations... he'd somehow inherited her will, though he wonders why she'd chosen him and not someone more emphatic like Prompto or someone with greater inner strength and will like Gladio. He'd have thought with his disability that such tasks required of the oracle would be rather impossible to carry out, yet here he is, embroiled in the same questionable fate as Noctis while seeking to save the king from himself. 

It's not a challenge he is certain he can conquer, mulling over the possibility of failure, not to mention having to tell Noctis, who is still mourning the death of his betrothed. He would never seek to replace her, but he is worried the king may arrive at that conclusion. However, he's been proving himself to be wiser these days, more resolute and confident in himself. There's no logical reason why he should keep anything from Noctis as the days of protecting him are long past due. Noctis is no longer a child, and that is a reality the two of them will have to contend with. That means should the king fall, he must take matters into his own hands, but he still doesn't plan on letting that happen.

Once the morning's light starts to peek through the caravan's windows, Ignis takes it as a sign to slip out of his bunk and prepare breakfast. It's been a long time since he's had the opportunity to cook for the other three, and even though it's difficult adjusting to the caravan's cramped kitchen, he harbors no plans of abandoning the task. It just takes him a bit longer to find ingredients, having to sample what he can to make sure the salt is the salt and the oil is not gasoline or anything lethal. In the background, he hears quiet shuffling, the sounds of Prompto's quick steps and Noctis' more sluggish ones. 

"Mmm mmm, nothing like waking up to the sweet smell of Ignis' cooking," Prompto greets, and he feels the blond drape his arms over him from behind while peeking curiously over his shoulder. "What'cha making?" 

"French toast. The kitchenette isn't well stocked enough for me to attempt any more complicated recipes." 

"Hey, no complaints here," his friend reassures him.

The sea salt-tinged scent of Noctis' skin emerges across his periphery, the tangy aroma of it that shouldn't feel as poignant as it does, but with the dream fresh in his mind, he can't stop his heart from reacting, a tell-tale pound of unease while he tries to keep his focus. He'll have to tell him about their change of plans sooner rather than later. For now, however, he fixes the prince with as much of a welcoming smile as he can muster. 

"Sleep well?" he asks, though he can already tell by the incessant cracking of Noctis' joints and the rustling of fingers through hair that the king looks beyond beleaguered by now. 

"Could be worse. At least, we weren't on the floor again." 

"I believe only Gladio has a taste for that." 

Speaking of which, he hadn't heard him move from his bed at all. He wonders if he's still asleep. His face turns towards where the bunks are, trying to listen out for him before Noctis murmurs, "He's in the bathroom. I think the jumbalaya may have very well killed him." 

"Oh, ew, I'm not going there after him," Prompto remarks with a very obvious gag at the end of that statement.

"I heard that!" is the muffled yell from somewhere deeper into the caravan. It's best if they all leave the area off-limits for the time being.

"I'll make a special note to serve him only dry toast this morning." 

A shame. He had a few of Gladio's favorite sausages on hand, but they have a long journey if they'll be heading back towards the outskirts of the Niflheim empire. He waits until after they all eat to tug Noctis aside, murmuring to him in no specific terms that they should talk. The king gives him a nod and motions with a tap on his forearm to follow. 

"Heading out for a bit. We'll catch up with you guys after." 

"Scream if you need us!" Prompto calls back. "Scream if there's something scary out there, too!" 

"I hesitate to think that he would run towards something scary rather than away from it." 

The dry comment from earns him a chuckle from Noctis before they fall in step with one another. The landscape is all too quiet just a few meters from the camp where the chirping of birds die and the wind has fallen weak to the blaze of the afternoon sun. Noctis' weight shuffles, the ever-tilting shift displacing rocks underneath. Beyond them lies a path of heat that presses into his face almost attention-starved, but Ignis' focus is only on the king at the moment.

"I believe we need to change course before we examine Ravatogh. There's another of the royal arms hidden in Shiva's resting place."

The subtle movements beside him grow more pronounced as Noctis fully turns towards him. He can hear the king's voice clearly as he reacts with surprise.

"After you made such a big fuss yesterday. What even makes you think there's a tomb there? Aside from the fact that there's a tomb just about everywhere."

"Well, yes." Logic would dictate the likeliness of there being a tomb in that area to be rather high as they've learned many times of their journey. However, the truth is far more complicated than that. "This will sound strange, but I was shown the location in a dream." 

Sight isn't required to picture the expression of absolute befuddlement on Noctis' face, and there are no words he has to reassure him that he hasn't lost his mind. Ignis isn't certain of that fact, though he's tried to convince himself that his dreams do have some connection to reality. The recurrence of them is in itself rather evident of that fact -very much like a repeat experiment. When the results come out the same each and every time, there comes a point where theory transforms into truth. And his truth is that he's _seen_ many things that have happened prior to their occurrence. 

"A dream," Noctis repeats as though trying to nail in the absurdity of it even further.

His head bows slightly, wishing his eyes could meet Noctis', wishing the pale shade of them wouldn't obstruct the sincerity of the plea behind them. 

"Noct, this may be one of the few times in all the years we've known one another where I will ask you to trust me without question even when it goes against your instincts."

 "My instinct is always to trust you. Even more than I trust myself," Noctis replies without a beat. 

Words that would move even a stone pillar, and Ignis can't hide the smile that blooms across his features, uncertain at what point he became deserving of such unwavering trust. He just knows he can't compromise it by leading his friend astray. 

"So heading back towards Niflheim's ruins... can't say I'm too excited." 

"That would make the two of us, but we must reach the tomb." 

He can sense the king's hesitation, most likely trying to piece together whether or not the risk is worth it. The weapon will make him undoubtedly stronger, but there is something else there. Ignis can't yet say what, but he knows they will discover it upon arrival. 

"What else have you dreamed of?" 

The question is unsurprising. Rather, the surprising fact is that Noctis even believes him at all, but he supposes he himself has always been the most level-headed. There is no reason he would make up tales about visions in his sleep unless he truly believes in them, and the last one had been too visceral to question. It's why he chooses to answer the king honestly.

"You." 

A phrase that could easily be misconstrued for something inappropriate, and it's not as though his dreams hadn't toed the line. What expression Noctis must be giving him at the moment is one he cannot quite conjure up on his own, and the silence that follows that revelation leaves the hair standing tense on the back of his neck. 

"The fate of all four of us is indelibly entwined," he continues, unwilling to allow the silence to stretch too long and breed excess thought, "For some reason or another, I believe I was chosen to guide you." 

By who? He can't say. Perhaps Luna or the Draconian. Perhaps, this had been his fate since many years ago. It's difficult to really tell, and he doesn't know who to ask. The Astrals have only appeared to him at their whim, but he doesn't know how to call upon them on his own. Communing with celestial beings had been left out of his training as Noctis' chamberlain and adviser, yet here he is, saddled with supernatural responsibilities and doing his best to remain the calm pillar of support for the rest of them when he's the one who needs someone to calm him. 

But it's not something he can burden Noctis with now. The king has enough on his mind without having to hear about his own compromised sanity on the situation. Not having anyone to turn to makes the fear well up inside, an ever-expanding entity that threatens to make him burst at the seams. If only he could tell Noctis everything, but fate is as transient as the seconds that tick by, evolving, mutating, _transforming_ with each new event. He has no idea what awaits them, yet he must believe that he isn't being blindly lead around by his own madness. 

A part of him wonders if Lunafreya ever harbored these doubts about herself or if she committed herself fully to her destiny. Was there ever a time where she feared her death and desired something better for herself? She must have buried those feelings deep down because the face she wore in public was always one of unflappable grace and dignity, not a moment's worth of hesitation crossing her expression. If only Ignis could look at the images he'd been shown in his dreams and feel as unshakable, but his mental fortitude had suffered with the loss of his sight -or even long before when he could not foresee the destruction of Insomnia nor warn Noctis properly ahead of time. While he had some inclination that there were many things King Regis hadn't told them, he never imagined the situation to be so dire. In the end, all four of them had been terribly unprepared for what happened, but he can't allow that to happen again. Whatever happens, he's sworn to himself dozens upon dozens of times that he'd prepare Noctis adequately for it. Because of that, he can't allow his own fears to conquer him like they want to. His insecurities of being useless, of failing his king... it's difficult to stand firm, and a part of him longs for the reassurance that they're on the right path.

Should he fail and should Noctis turn into the fiend that his nightmares have wrought, he isn't sure if he has the will to fulfill the promise he'd given the Draconian. He doesn't want to lose his friend, and that realization is the hardest one to live with, feeling a sudden oppressive clamp around his lungs as his eyes fix on where Noctis' blue ones may lie, trying to paint in the memory of their soft color in the darkness. In times like these, he wants the comfort of Noctis' infinite stare, the vast depth of emotions lurking within that drown him. His hands always have to map out the expressions, and his fingers twitch too much at his sides right now, wanting to seek out that raw touch. Instead, he contends himself with the remembrance of the heat molten into the surface of Noctis' skin, the smooth texture where his jaw meets his neck, the tickle of his lashes dancing against his fingertips. 

The yearning threatens to overpower all other senses, a malaise of desperation crushing in on his mind while the silence between them grows almost deafening until the king finally deigns to shatter it. 

"Should probably find the others... make sure Gladio hasn't died on us from food poisoning." 

The small bit of humor does temper the moment, enough that Ignis cracks a hint of a smile and nods. "I'll inform them of our new plans."

With any hope, they won't create much of a fuss by them shifting course as he doubts Prompto and Gladio would be as easy to convince as Noctis. Perhaps Prompto, but Gladio... he has his responsibilities back in Insomnia to see to and is probably the least likely of them all to buy into dreams being anything near precognitive. The food poisoning might make him less amenable to protest, a fact that Ignis has no qualms of taking advantage of when he knows their primary duty is to protect the people.

They end up spending an extra day at the camp site to stock up on supplies and gather accounts and reports from different hunters so they can compare all their data. While the number of undead beasts seems to be on the rise, no one has yet seen humans infected with the same condition, a small relief they all cling to as they board Gladio's car. The behemoth that had terrorized the hunters from a few days earlier had last been spotted heading west towards Ravatogh as most of the creatures seem to be going. The former Kingsglaive who'd accompanied him on the expedition hadn't been found among the dead bodies left by the attack, a fact that leaves Ignis still feeling unsettled. They'd lost track of one another when they split up, the older man presumably taunting the behemoth away. He only hopes that he hadn't found death after escaping it countless times throughout his years. If anything, that man has always been a consummate survivor. 

The drive to Caem feels shorter than when they went to Insomnia as though all their uncertainty from before had been replaced with a new resolve to see this journey to its end, regardless of where that end may be. It's an echo of their first trip to Altissia, only their wonderment and joy had long since been replaced with sorrow and turmoil. The beautiful city that had greeted them on their first trip stands no longer, only ruins of monuments that had stood there for centuries. Some claim to still see Leviathan leaping across the water in the distant sea, a sight that brings them as much awe as it does terror. 

Ignis hopes the Hydraean still stands by Noctis' side as he'll need every ally he can get, but her words have not reached him at all. He has a feeling those dreams had only been just scratching the surfaces of his own capabilities, but he doesn't yet know how to push himself past his own limits when he can't see where the finish line lies. He wonders if there will be enough time for him to find out. 

 

**017.**   

 

Frost billows out between his lips as Noctis huddles uncomfortably in the small train compartment. They'd only had a quick stop in Caem to board Cid's boat and make it to Accordo. From there, they'd taken the train as they had once before, memories of their first ride on it still haunting Noctis. Back then, he'd still been dealing with Luna's death and had been struggling with whether or not he even wanted to wear the royal ring, yet now, it sits dormant on his finger, a permanent fixture against his flesh that he stares down at it as his hand trembles from the cold. So much had changed from then, the portrait of shattered expectations they painted now transformed into mutual acceptance of their duty, anticipation and nervousness brimming from between their bones, making it hard to sit out the journey. 

Noctis' eyes move from Gladio's face tucked behind his book to Prompto's more solemn expression, probably triggered by the sight of where Noctis had pushed him off -the familiar outspread of snowy hills that stretch on for an eternity. It's difficult to fight against the guilt that still climbs up his esophagus and pushes all the air loose out of his body, knowing that that one mistake of his had been the catalyst for everything that happened afterwards. Losing the Regalia, rushing to Gralea, falling victim to Ardyn's machinations. Not to mention Prompto had discovered the harsh truth about himself, but he can tell his friend has come to accept it all by now. The lingering questions of his identity must have haunted him for years, but Prompto swallowed his fear and uncertainty the moment they all willfully welcomed him once more as one of their own rather than whatever Ardyn tried to force him into believing he was.

There are so many things that can't be undone, so many events that are out of their control, but Noctis has to believe that they can have some kind of effect on this ailing planet. It's why he'd been so quick to place his trust in Ignis even if it sounded like his friend had been slowly losing his mind back there. His instinct goaded him into believing those words were true, and it's not as though he has anything else to guide him at the moment. With the rise of all those undead creatures and the stirring of disease spreading from being to being, the only answers are the ones that lie beyond reason. 

If it's dreams that open the gateways for them, then so be it, though Ignis hadn't addressed what exactly he'd seen. There are so many questions Noctis wants to ask him, concerns biting on his frontal lobe that he can't bring himself to voice because whenever he and Ignis are alone lately, it's never easy to focus anymore. His eyes fall to Ignis' mouth, the gentle curve of his top lip, the edges roughened by heat and dehydration. The overpowering gaze from his now clear eyes, shifting discreetly, a shattered glass shard that digs in through his heart. Hair always a disarray, fallen strands that lick his forehead where they grow out too long. The smattering of birth marks and freckles spread over slightly burnt skin that his fingers want to touch and rub over. 

It's easier to keep the words unspoken as though the act of speaking may cause too many scattered truths to bleed out, ones he hurriedly sews into his body because he's been wedged between duty and want for a while now. His duty is to protect his people, fulfill the promises he made to both Luna and his father, carry on their legacy and make it so they did not die in vain.

His want is to explore the frenetic buzzing across his nerves, explore his friend's mouth, his skin, drench his hands in the sobering smell of Ignis' shampoo. His want is to see the shared smiles of all his friends, no longer both hollow and heavy as they are now, the effortless ones that their early photographs captured. His want is to stop feeling as though he's slowly being crushed by the weight of an entire mountain, his lungs slowly bursting each day as his bones shatter from ever fracture erupting through the center of his body. If he could just breathe out for a moment, turn back the dial of time, remember the first time he smelled the sea in Galdin Quay and the first photo outside of Insomnia Prompto took of them... 

_'I want to be that person. I want to go back there again. Please let me go back...'_

Both eyes squeeze shut as the pressure of the cold bludgeons him across the forehead. It makes it harder to breathe as his eyes water behind tight lids, and his fingers curl tight around his arm rests until Prompto nudges him in the side to break him out of his trance. It's a welcomed interruption, unwilling to sink down deeper along the chaotic spiral that's held him ensnared since he woke up in the hospital that day. 

"Take a look outside!" His covered arm stretches out over him, finger pointing towards the window which had been frozen shut. In the fogged up glass, there's the image of a large ice encased statue, half-buried in the snow. The figure isn't one he recognizes, but he can make out a horn protruding from the top. "The ruins of some ancient city must lie there beneath all that snow." 

Ignis stirs a few meters away, eyes drawn to the window even if he can't see what's on the other side. "We must be close to the tomb. We should get off at the next stop and explore."

Given how frigid the train already feels, Noctis can't say he's looking forward to the outdoor adventure. The ice is already practically forming against the flesh of his hands and stretching so far across his skin, threatening to break the surface and enter his bloodstream, but he tries to remain as active as possible, rubbing his own arms furiously. The fleece-lined jacket he acquired in Accordo may as well be a plastic bag for all it's doing to combat the cold. The only one who looks unaffected is Gladio, who relaxes against his seat before he closes the book in his hands. 

"According to this book, some of the past kings of Solheim created temples to the fire god in the desert wastelands 'where decay would not reach'. The archaeological records indicate that many explorers studying the ruins were on the search for a particular temple that only appeared to them in a mirage, rumored to house the tomb of the first king of Lucis. No matter how much they chased after it, they couldn't reach it. Seems like we're in for a lot of walking." 

A mirage that can't be reached... "Is that the only account of it?" Noctis asks, brows furrowing as he wonders if such a thing even exists.

"That's what the book says. If you guys actually let me have more than just a few hours in the library, maybe I could have found something more concrete."

There's an edge of petulance to those words as they had to all but drag Gladio's hulking body out of there with whatever he could take in his hands. If left unchecked, Gladio could stay there for days on end without moving, poring obsessively over ancient Lucian texts.

"We can reach it," Ignis assures the rest of them, his fingers calmly resting in his lap as his body sits straight up against the bench. Thicker gloves adorn his fingers while a wool cap plasters some of his bangs to his face, obscuring his glasses a bit, but what little of his expression Noctis can see appears certain and resolute. 

The train's engine blows noisily as it slows down to the next stop, the announcer's voice informing them that they've reached their destination. The chill only grows more volatile when the train's doors all open at once, and Noctis trades looks with the other three before they stand together and shuffle out. Neither of them are particularly eager to traverse the snowscape, least of all Prompto who peers around uncomfortably as though he's trying to piece together whether or not he's been to this area before. Noctis himself can't recognize it at all, trudging along behind with heavier steps as he tugs his jacket even tighter around him. 

More cold air bites savagely at his cheeks and lips, feeling the flesh already start to crack and break under the intense breeze, and his gloved hands drag the scarf around his neck higher to cover the lower half of his face before pulling his own wool cap lower over his ears. He can hear the quiet shuffle of accompanying boots as they move to huddle together, having difficulty seeing passed the storm. Everything is submerged in a veil of white as the wind whips their hair and clothes around, and their legs start to sink in deeper the more they walk. 

One patch of snow threatens to nearly drown Noctis inside as he sinks in a little too far only to have the hood of his jacket seized by Gladio. His shield easily lifts him out and gives him a firm pat as if to tell him to watch himself. It's enough to get some blood pumping through him fast and harsh while Noctis is desperate to find some place warmer. Unfortunately, the weather only grows more unforgiving the further from the train station they get, the endless snow caps covering their vision in every direction. They end up finding no rest until they've walked nearly two miles on foot, and by then, Noctis is ready to collapse, his legs so numb that he can barely feel them underneath him as though they'd been lobbed off completely at some point. Prompto remains uncharacteristically quiet, gloved hands stuffed into his own jacket as a heavy scarf obscures the bottom of his face. 

"We should camp around here," Gladio tells them, pointing to a small spot near a frozen river where there are patches of green peeking through the snow. "Bet I can get a fire roaring once the wind dies down a bit." 

"We'll leave it in your hands," Ignis tells him before rummaging through his bag to pull out some food. Most of it is canned, non-perishable food that won't taste like anything but dog food, but Noctis is too hungry to complain at the moment. All he wants is to fill his empty stomach and try to sleep through the unforgiving weather.

His body sinks down on the first log he sees, paying no mind to the icy wetness of the log bleeding through his pants. It's too much effort to move any further, and he isn't sure how they're even going to manage the night when the numbness embraces more of his limbs. A part of him is frightened  they'll die out here, chasing some phantom vision that Ignis hadn't even bother to explain in more detail, and Noctis' confidence in him is starting to fracture a bit as no tomb appears in sight. Even Gladio's regurgitation of ancient Solheim records hadn't done much to reassure him they're going in the right direction, but he doesn't want to accept that they're clinging to false hope either. When has Ignis ever lead them wrong? 

The man in question continues to work on opening the different cans of food for them before placing them in dishes to roast over the fire. It doesn't produce the most appetizing of scents, but they hadn't seen any creatures worth hunting in miles. The fact that there are no protective runes here makes Noctis more uneasy, especially when he picks up some faint howling in the distance. As much as he wants to tell himself it's the wind, he knows better. The darkness is always an asylum to many horrors. 

As the fire starts to build in vigor, Prompto sinks down next to him, practically pressing into his side. To his surprise, his friend grabs his gloved hands and starts to squeeze them between his own, rubbing and applying pressure through the contact. Even with the lined fabric between, it still feels too intimate, and Noctis can't shake of the heated crawl of some unspoken feeling nestling along his ears and beneath the pulse of his wrists. 

"Don't think I have any toes left attached to me," the blond murmurs, seemingly unmindful of his own effect. "Got to at least try and save our fingers. Not gonna be of much use without my shooting hand." 

"I think I lost everything beneath my neck a mile ago," Noctis returns, trying to make a concentrated effort to speak. His mind feels blistered and hazy as though hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, and he briefly wonders if it's hypothermia setting in. 

"We're on the right course," Ignis assures them again, looking calmer than the rest as he swirls around the contents of the small pot.

Noctis wishes he had the energy to object, already dying to get back home and under his warm covers. He'd give anything to bury himself inside a cocoon of blankets as delirium starts its slow and gradual conquest of his mind, running out of better thoughts to cling to. He isn't even aware at what point his eyes droop downward, the world shuttered by the shadow of sleep. Only Ignis' insistent shaking rouses him, the older man pressing a heated thermos of soup and something that looks like beans and meat all haphazardly blended together into mush. 

"I'm afraid it's the best I can do in present conditions."

"Starting to think hypothermia is the better option at this point," the king grumbles before spooning the soup into his mouth. It does have the desired effect of warming him up as it rolls down his esophagus, heat spreading outwards from his center until Noctis starts to feel lucid again. The rest of the mush is devoured with the ravenous gusto of a man at his breaking point while Ignis grabs some thermal blankets from his travel pack to clothe them all. 

Prompto shares one of them with him, still using his hands to warm his own as he feels the blond's smaller body quiver erratically next to him. Gladio shrugs off his own thermal blanket and lets Ignis hog it for himself before polishing his thermos clean then turning to face Ignis rather pointedly.

"So how long we got to freeze our asses out here before anything starts to look like your dream?" 

It's the question Noctis had been avoiding asking himself, unwilling to sound accusatory, but he's starting to approach his wit's end with the cold. The soup had only been a small band-aid on a bullet wound of pure frost engulfing his insides. 

"We're looking for a mirage," Ignis replies, sounding uncertain of it himself. "Remember this land used to be desert before the fall of the Glacian, so the tomb of the first was most likely built around then." 

Why so far from the Lucian capital of Insomnia is beyond Noctis. He wasn't there, so he doesn't have a clue. However, this was the man who was anointed as the first king in place of Ardyn, the one the 'Usurper' scorned for centuries. It almost makes him wonder what kind of relationship they did have -if they both were friends who worked to control the scourge back then or if they despised each other from the beginning. Up until now, he hadn't even really thought of what kind of man Ardyn had been in the past, either. He obviously didn't start out as nihilistic as he was when they all had faced him. 

There are so many questions he may never know the answer to, especially since he killed Ardyn before he even got to ask. While he'd convinced himself that the man deserved no mercy, perhaps killing him was the greatest mercy he could have offered. No path of redemption could undo what horrors he'd wrought on the planet, yet Noctis can't stamp down the slightest hint of regret that he hadn't learned more about him when he had the chance. The Astrals speak in riddles and almost everyone tied to Lucian line is dead, leaving Noctis to try and resolve the sins of the past with just his friends. 

Helplessness swells inside him along with remorse, a myriad of questions spinning around that he wishes he could silence as he tries to find some rest. Even with the thermal blanket and Prompto pressing into his side, his mind whirls fast, further unnerved by the escalating howls as the moon decided to drag itself across the night sky. Another unhampered shiver slithers down his spine, making Noctis visibly shake until sleep starts to find him. 

With his head lolled onto Prompto's hard shoulder, he feels himself being pulled outside of his body, his boots pounding on the ground and the burn of too much oxygen in his lungs. Tears start to squeeze out the corners of his eyes, sprinting far away from whatever pads behind him until his knees hit the snow harshly. Only then does he see a familiar tail wagging before him, black dusted with silver, white, tan flecks of hair. The dog bids him to follow as he chases after it, unsure where they're going -deeper into the white haze, perhaps, his vision drowned in frost with his rib cage starting to turn to ice the more he inhales the wind. The rapidly fading trail of paw prints guides him along, taking him to the edge where the wall of frost seemingly stops and a desert lies on the other side, separated by a large tree weeping ice hardened sap. The color of it is so putrid that it looks like dried blood, and on other side of the border are twin statues and Ignis standing between them, lifting the trident slowly. His lips move with words Noctis can't hear, leaving him to try and decipher them through the shapes alone, but all he recognizes is his name.

Before he can learn anything else, Prompto's hand grips his knee hard, squeezing inwards towards the bone with a hard jostle that drags Noctis right out of his dream. The king's eyes fly open, lashes frozen together at the edges from tears of exertion, but he doesn't have time to fuss with them as his friend tries to yank him onto his feet.

"Yeti feeding time!" he gasps out, the words muffled by the wind, and Noctis doesn't have time to really comprehend his cry until a large fur-covered beast comes swinging its clawed arms towards him. 

Gladio moves forward to hold it off, his shield appearing in hand to block it while he motions at the rest of them to run with his other. Even with low visibility, Noctis can make out its monstrous size, standing on two feet, at least a lumbering 10 meters high as it barrels down on them. Its gnarled black tusks and white fur are the only other notable features he can make out while doing his best to dodge the claws swinging out vehemently towards them.

"Dead or undead?" Ignis asks, already assessing the situation and preparing a flask in hand. 

"Can't tell," Gladio answers before smacking his shield right into its claw and pushing it back by force. 

Ignis nods more to himself than anyone before he sprints to the side. 

"Let's be safe and incinerate it completely. Noct, you help Gladio keep it busy. Prompto, aim for its feet to slow it down." 

"Already on it!" the blond calls out as he uses one of his larger rifles to try and shred its feet little by little.

Playing the decoy, Noctis summons his Ultima blade and swings it towards the front of the beast before his body warps to catch it. His legs barely hold together on the landing, unused to having to maneuver around in such heavy clothing, but he tries his best to break out into a dodge roll before swapping the sword out for one of his lances. Gladio immediately kneels next to him and lets him run up his back, using that as leverage to propel himself in the air so he can pierce downwards. 

The blade cuts through the creature's shoulder, breaking through the surface only to reveal the decayed blackened blood that they've grown accustomed to seeing. The cold does mitigate the scent enough that he manages not to grow nauseous after a single whiff, but it also means it won't die from the strike. That realization hits him just as he's flung to the ground, and the creature already starts moving towards him to swipe his claws at his face once more. 

Gladio manages to lob off the attack arm with a clean slice, leaving it a bloodied mass as rotting tissue spills out from the wound. The snow around them grows grey and black with rivulets of infected blood leaking in every direction, a sight that threatens to distract Noctis as he tries to avoid plopping down face first into any of it. He warp-strikes away as the creature attempts to buck him back with its tusks while releasing an anguished wail, a haunting sound that's drowned by the sudden explosion that erupts at its feet when Ignis unleashes a powerful fire spell.

Their surroundings are immediately engulfed in the red embers, the bright flames licking at their vision as it spreads just as fast as it was cast. The trees start to burn fast along with the snow, charring up the dead grass underneath, and Ignis motions at them to run before it gets too close, abandoning what's left of their camp to continue down their aimless path. Without any true direction, they only end up running deeper through the blinding winds, trying to march against the savage gusts that threaten to push them off-balance.

It's difficult to ascertain just how long they spend fighting through the powerful surge, hands held before their faces to avoid the whipping of snow drops until Prompto suddenly starts jogging forward ahead of them. Energized by the sight of something in the distance, he sprints through the terrain with impressive speed before calling out, "Look over there! Think that's what we're looking for!"

"I'm surprised you can even see anything at all," Gladio grumbles in return, continuously rubbing at his eyes with his forearm. 

Noctis isn't faring any better, fighting to keep his eyes open at all as the wind blasts irritate them into blinking frenetically. He manages to take a few steps closer to Prompto before the blond grabs onto his jacket and yanks him closer to his side then turns his head for him towards what he'd spotted moments ago. There in the distance lies a copse of palm trees surrounding a small body of water, a phantom sun glinting off its reflective surface -a literal oasis that has no reason to exist in this kind of weather. However, unless they're both hallucinating at this moment, a great possibility, there's no denying that they both are looking at the same thing. The real question is whether or not it's some kind of illusion to trick them or if it's really there. 

Without waiting for them to really discuss it, Prompto bolts ahead once more, chasing his way towards the scenic spot with all the madness of a man whose spent way too long in the cold. Noctis can't exactly blame him for his desperation at the moment, but he also doesn't feel at ease. If anything propels him to go after Prompto, it's to keep him from running face-first into danger. 

"Wait!" Ignis calls after him, trying to catch up while struggling with his stride against the foreign terrain, "Remember it's a mirage! You'll never be able to catch up to it!"

"Then how are we supposed to get to the tomb?" Prompto calls back.

A valid point. The four of them hadn't quite exactly determined how they would reach said mirage, though Noctis chalks that up to not having entirely believed the account to begin with. The fact that it's proving to be true is a sore point in their expedition, feeling more and more at a loss because how does one make a mirage sit still in front of them long enough for them to enter it? 

He can tell Ignis is thinking the same thing as his brows furrow inwards, trying to run through different possibilities and scenarios in his head.

"Did the text say anything more about the tomb, Gladio?" 

Gladio's head shakes before he replies, "Only that they failed countless times to reach it." 

At least, they know it exists, so this entire trip hasn't been a waste, but there's no definitely no turning back after making it this far. Their supplies will only take them so far, and neither of their phones are working without a single cell phone tower for miles. That means their GPS apps are off-limits, so it'd be impossible to pin down the exact location, assuming the mirage even has an exact location. Every step closer still causes the oasis to shift further away from them, constantly eluding them to the point of frustration. 

If he weren't so cold, maybe Noctis could more aptly come up with a plan, but his brain feels as though it's encased in a block of ice for as much as he can encourage its synapses to respond to present urgency. All he can do is summon one of his swords in hand, letting the particles thread together to form the blade before he sharply throws it through the distance between him and the oasis. To his surprise, the blade pierces through the bark of one of the palm trees enough for Noctis to warp-strike through the distance.

Colors and shapes blur around him as he crosses over the snow into the oasis until he manages to grab the blade and safely drop down onto the grass below. The snowscape that surrounded the oasis transforms completely to an endless ocean of sand that covers the area on all sides, completely obscuring the sight of his friends. His heart responds in kind, a powerful drum beat emanating from his chest as he tries to figure out where he is and if he can get out, but there's nothing else outside the oasis for his blade to latch onto, so he can't warp-strike away. 

Much like the snow, his steps sink deep into the sand, feeling it threaten to swallow him whole as he tries to move from his spot. 

"Noct!" Ignis calls out, his voice a distant echo that surrounds him without giving him any clues as to which direction in particular he's standing in. 

Noctis trudges faster through the sand, feeling the blistering heat start to bear down on him as he searches for the source of his voice. His heavy clothes grow oppressive, draining him of all the hydration in his body until he's forced to start shedding the layers just so he can breathe. The skin on his face also threatens to burn under the savage sun rays that surround him, leaving Noctis itching at the flaring skin.

"I can't see you!" Noctis heaves out in return, the words struggling to find release from his parched throat, "Where are you?" 

"We can't see you, either!" Prompto replies this time, and his voice doesn't sound any closer than Ignis' did.

Another scan around the area still shows him to be completely alone with only the merciless sun to provide any semblance of companionship. It's then that the panicked thoughts start to enter his mind - _Will he die here? Can he find a way out? Is he even in the same dimension as the others anymore?_ How is it this place exists so close to them yet a universe of distance away? Even worse is the fact that he doesn't see a tomb anywhere in sight. Had those texts just been complete conjecture? 

"This makes no sense!" he all but growls out, crumbling to his knees as he punches the sand. The grains threaten to sear the top layer of his flesh as they press into his skin before he registers the slow-building vibrations beneath. Is that an earthquake? 

Both palms push down on the sand to try and get a better feel as the ground continues to tremble until Noctis can barely hold onto his balance. Walls of dust rise up, obscuring more of his vision, and the rumbling grows more violent in its fervor. It's then that he registers Titan standing before him, his hulking body holding a large fragmented stone like a shield to block whatever is on the other side. Noctis can't make out anything but Titan's towering presence, swallowed by the shadow he forms.

The only thing that whizzes passed the stone shield is a single golden blade that strikes the sand with a savage thrust that leaves it half buried. The blade itself is almost as large as Noctis' entire body, and he can't stop the quiver of fear that rolls through his spine and down the length of his limbs as he realizes he's being attacked. His lips part in abject shock, not enough voice in him left to cry out, especially when his adrenaline kicks into gear and bids him to move fast, a request the rest of his body fulfills with a dodge-roll that draws him out of the path of danger. Another flourish of blades rains down on him, one nearly chopping Noctis in half as it slams down into the sand just behind his heels, and against Titan's shield he spots an enormous figure in gold and purple-gleaming armor, which glints blindingly bright in the sun. He has to shield his gaze just to even look at him, recalling the visage vaguely from his dream -the one who'd told him of his destiny. 

His eyes are so distracted trying to focus on the majestic form of the Astral that he misses the gold-plated blade cutting its path towards him. His hands rise feebly in the last second to try and shield himself, but the blade is halted by a blue-tinted blast from behind him before a glowing orb envelops him tightly. He whips his head around to face his savior, surprised when Ignis stands behind him with Luna's trident raised, using its power with great effort.

"How did you…" Noctis starts before two more blades strike the magic barrier around them, already threatening to shatter it.

"It's the Draconian," Ignis informs him, and the power of the trident already starts to climb up Ignis' arms, tearing through the fabric of his shirt and jacket while burning through his skin underneath.

Noctis can't help looking concerned for him as his friend continues to serve as a conduit for whatever magic lies inside the oracle's trident, but he knows Ignis won't be able to last very long.  

"What does he want? I thought he was on our side!" 

More of Ignis' arms start to deteriorate, the flaring of the trident's magic eating through his flesh while his eyes glow bright blue-green just as they had that day in his father's old office. 

"To test your resolve. He won't let you go any further unless you prove you will carry no misdeeds with the power of the crystal and the kings." 

That's kind of important, something Ignis probably could have shared before they went on this trip.

"How long did you know he was going to do this?!" 

Ignis grimaces and manages to look apologetic. "Not very long, I'm afraid. Perhaps, I'd known longer than I wanted to admit to myself." 

There's so much in those words that he wants to dissect but isn't given much time to as the shield around them shatters. The blast from the impact knocks them both off balance, leaving their bodies slamming hard into the sand. 

The trident rolls to the ground next to Ignis as he lies flat on his back, eyes shut while consciousness starts to elude him, and Noctis rapidly crawls over to him, fingers touching his face in terror before they slide down to his neck to make sure his pulse still beats strong against his skin. 

"Ignis!" he cries out, his voice tapering into harsh pants as he struggles to concentrate. 

His heart squeezes on all sides when there's no verbal response, but there's still a faint vibration against his fingers. If he doesn't get up fast, then his friend really will perish there, a thought that propels Noctis to summon his own shield, holding it out before him while crouching down. Hopefully, the other two are okay wherever they are, unable to hear their voices any longer beneath the whirling wail of swords crashing down and the Draconian's power swelling in the atmosphere. He doesn't even know how Ignis reached him or knew to summon his trident, all questions he'll have to save for later when survival isn't a priority.

A fresh wave of blades pierce the ground, an electric pulse reverberating from the impact that knocks Noctis off his feet. By now, Titan has been impaled, the shape of his body mangled as he struggles to push the blade from himself. Without him in the way, Bahamut starts his methodical advance, the aura around him pulsing outwards like a ravaged and angry heart beat, and his blue eyes cross Noctis', the vibrant color pinning him place.

"Rise, King of Kings. Your journey will conclude here." 

The voice booms out powerfully, the sound enough to make his eardrums almost burst. It takes every effort not to cover his ears, unwilling to appear cowardly in front of the Draconian. 

"What have you to say of the destiny you fled?" 

His destiny to die for the world. He couldn't accept it deep in his heart, knowing how much he wanted more time with his friends and loved ones. How many times had he apologized to Luna and his father for not joining them? Was it cowardly to run from death? Or was it more cowardly not to challenge death? 

"The scourge isn't gone!" Noctis ends up shouting back, finding the power within himself to stand up straight as he holds Bahamut's merciless gaze. "You say it was my time, but the threat was still there! I couldn't leave the people of Eos in danger!" 

If he'd died back then, who would save them now against the undead creatures? Against the daemons that still roam the land at night? All those fallen, innocent bodies, a sea of corpses from the hunters delivered to their families. He can't sacrifice any more of his people when he has the power inside himself to stop it.

"The providence was to have concluded with your death upon receiving the crystal's light into the power of the ring. Only then would the land have been fully purified, yet you have forsaken both your people and your fate. One peculiarity concerns me… your slumber was short. Ten year's worth of power was absorbed in mere minutes… it should not have been possible." 

The memories starts to return just as quickly as they'd unfolded back then. His fingers splayed out on the crystal as it started to grow around his arm. His whole body was sucked inside, the shards growing everywhere on his flesh as the blinding white light enveloped him like a womb. When he was released, his friends were all there, fending off Ardyn who had an infernal red aura surrounding him. Like himself, royal blades floated around him, the likes of which he used to try and strike at the others -only Noctis stopped him with a punctuated stab through his back. Black blood leaked down the wound, staining his fingers as Ardyn laughed and pushed the blade right out of himself only to swing his own at him.

They fought for what felt like an eternity, exchanging blows as his friends used magic to try and slow him down until fed up with their antics, Ardyn rendered them all unconscious in moments. The two of them had been left alone as Ardyn goaded him into stabbing him again. That time, shards of crystal slid from his father's blade, pushing right through Ardyn's heart and milking out more rivulets of decayed blood that covered almost the entire floor under them. His eyes looked sickly and toxic as they oozed black tears, but he seemed to help Noctis push the blade in deeper. 

_"Do you believe killing me will be the end of it all?"_ the chancellor had asked him back then, but Noctis never replied, his hands shaking around the blade as the Lucian kings rose up against him. One by one, they pierced Ardyn, bleeding out more of his accursed immortality from him until Noctis' mind had fuzzed over. 

"I don't know," Noctis finally answers honestly to both Ardyn's long-faded question and Bahamut's query. "I don't know how I lived, how I took that match of the crystal's light in so fast… I don't know anything. I just wanted to save them all!" 

His friends, his father, Luna… all his thoughts come back to the people he holds dear. Warm tears push against his eyelids before slipping loose as Noctis' sword appears in his hands. He wishes he had the answer so many times, but his heart had chosen without ever consulting his mind. He just wanted to see everyone one last time, no matter what it took, and if he doomed the world in doing so, then he'll do everything he can now to fix things.

"Fight me if you want!" he challenges the Astral, anger burgeoning in and around his tears as he stalks closer to the divine being, "Try and kill me if that's what you came here to do! But I'm not giving up until the scourge is gone! Let me fix my own mistakes!" 

A sound like a chuckle tumbles loose from the Astral's form before his wings shift to his sides, spreading far enough that they nearly take up the entire desert-scape. Noctis' heart pounds anew, a quick, savage beat across his rib cage before he prepares his body to move from the swords' manic descent as they crash down all around him. Their unforgiving slice narrowly catches him, the fabric of the back of his shirt torn by the edge of one of the blades as he dodges. 

The shadow of Bahamut's main sword stretches over him like an obelisk painted on the ground, the only hint that it's about to cleave him. Noctis rolls out of the way just in time, missing the blade while the impact makes the ground vibrate harshly. Climbing back on his feet after proves to be a feat as the sword swings down towards him  a second time, and this time, Noctis blocks the blow with his great sword, the blade appearing in his hands to absorb the impact. The strength with which Bahamut bears down on him threatens to shatter his arms as he does all he can to hold him at bay. 

Around him, more swords start to plunge into the ground, their sharpened tips grazing over his skin and the remaining tatters of his clothes as Noctis withdraws his great sword just so he can warp out of the way. A line of golden lined blades strikes out even further from his flickering body, leading a trail to where Ignis' form lies unconscious still. It's then that Noctis realizes Bahamut plans on impaling him, his eyes widening in dread as he propels his body forwards with all the force and magic he can muster. Stasis is already looming, threatening to disable him, and the distance proves to be too great when he falls halfway, striking the ground with his knees. 

A large sword buries its way into the ground on the side of Ignis' body as the shadow of Bahamut's blade covers his unconscious form, and Noctis can feel frenzied tears dot his eyes as he wills his body to warp just once more before abandoning his magic completely in desperation. His legs burn and ache as they carry him the rest of the way, gold embers from more fiery blades erupting at his side, the ground rupturing from the continuous collisions. It's near impossible to maintain his balance through the fury, but Ignis' body is just within reach. 

There's no plan running through his mind, no rhyme or rhythm guiding him except the need to protect his friend at all costs, unwilling to suffer the same regret when he couldn't do anything for Luna. The pain of her death still blooms too fresh, having vowed not to lose anyone precious to him again, and he clings to that one promise as he throws his body over Ignis' and covers him completely with his own.

_'Pleasedon'tdiePleasedon'tdiePleasedon'tdie_ is the only chant whirling through his mind as he slides his fingers under Ignis' head and through his hair before pushing their foreheads together as though he can somehow will him to be safe with the embrace.

"I'm sorry," he whispers quietly, unsure what he's really apologizing for. Perhaps all the words wasted and the ones he never spoke out loud, all the times he wanted to touch him but couldn't, all the kisses he ached to share, all the laughs he hid and pictures he was too shy to smile in. Not being able to say goodbye to him or Gladio or Prompto. He wishes he could have seen them all together one more time so badly.

His eyes screw shut, body tensed as he braces for impact of the blade, feeling the heated glow coming off it as it burns into his backside. His heart stops in pure terror, clutching his friend tight as his only comfort before noticing the seconds that tick by without robbing him of his life. Rather, the blade stays poised in place, resting just above his back while the atmosphere around them slowly starts to clear.

The abstract swirl of colors draws away and Bahamut's wings draw close and rest at his sides.

"You hold much dear that you fear death yet embrace it to protect what you hold dear," Bahamut tells him, his voice as grave as ever, "The Accursed blood may run through you still. Take care that you enter not his thrall as many others have." 

The large sword disperses in a flourish of glowing particles, and Noctis is slow to lift his face from its repose and turn to face the Draconian. Their eyes meet as he tries to read whatever thoughts may flow behind the Astral's eyes, yet nothing surfaces before him in that enigmatic stare. 

"Remain pure of heart, King of Kings. The light within you will yet grow at its darkest before the dawn rises." 

The rest of his visage fades leaving warm golden flecks of light that drift over him and Ignis like fireflies. Noctis wants to sag on his friend tiredly, only marginally holding himself together before the extent of his stasis hits him as his head pillows itself on Ignis' stomach. His fingers loosely grab onto the man's shredded dress shirt, crushing the fabric in between while listening to their shared breaths.

He's only aware that Ignis is awake when his fingers touch the back of Noctis' neck, feeling gently over his hair before drifting to his face. Then, each digit extends to read his expression through touch, his thumb moving to trace lightly over his mouth while his index and middle fingers brush across his eyelids and down the bridge of his nose. 

"Are you all right, Noct?"

"If you count every inch of my body in screaming pain 'all right,' then sure." 

It's all he can do to break the tense atmosphere around them as he presses his face deeper into Ignis' touch rather than shying away from it like his instincts want him to. Staring at him now, he instantly recalls all the regrets he would have carried had Ignis died, the words he wanted to say, the things he wanted to do- they're both running out of chances, a fact that he'd become all too aware of moments ago. How long does he plan on keeping it all inside? 

"If you can still-" Ignis begins, but the rest of what he means to say is suddenly cut off by Noctis' desperate mouth.

The dry texture of his lips, the heated press of flesh upon flesh -a coalescing of sensations that reverberate through Noctis' body as his pulse erupts with furor. He doesn't know if he can blame it on an adrenaline rush or fear-induced delusion, but it feels _too right_ when he slides his fingers into Ignis' hair and twists them roughly to the strands, tongue prying open the other's lips just to taste his breaths, feel the warm slide as they invade his mouth, and while he expects Ignis to pull away any second now and tell him that he doesn't feel the same, that this is inappropriate, that Noctis is too clumsy, inexperienced, delirious, he never does.

Instead, the older man grips Noctis' cheeks with both his hands, moving to correct his reckless mouth as he tilts his head and strokes the underside of his tongue with a heated brush that makes something heavy and torrid scorch along the pit of his stomach then twist all his nerve endings into tight, tight knots. And he's never felt the pull of hunger overwhelm him as it does now, the sheer craving for another person's touch, for their lips, the clean scent of their hair, the warmth coiling from their bodies. Noctis wants to give into it so badly, any and all reason chased away as he digs his fingers into the knob of bone at the top of Ignis' spine and feels his friend move his raw, uncovered fingers beneath his shirt, stroking the small of his back.

It feels like an eternity of breathlessness passes, lips locked in a rampage of too much pent up yearning that tries to undo all of their reservations at once until Ignis finally withdraws, his mouth distractedly painted red and bruised, pale eyes looking wild and untamed with some unbidden emotion. His hand remains flat against Noctis' back, a heavy touch that bleeds straight into his spinal cord as Noctis watches him lick his chapped lips between panted out breaths. 

"We should grab the royal arm and search for the others," he murmurs, trying to ground them both back in the present, though his expression very much says they shall continue this at a later time and more appropriate venue. 

Noctis finds himself nodding while his voice hovers in his throat, locked inside muscle and tissue as he too struggles for air. His whole body feels flared up from the inside, throbbing with some uncontrollable force as he moves. It's difficult to shift his eyes away from Ignis' face, but as his senses return to him, he finds his usual shyness creeping back with it as well, bidding him to collect himself fast and shuffle away to help Ignis up. The desertscape still surrounds them, only now a tomb lies in wait where there was emptiness before.

Ignis leans against his side heavily for support, the weight dragging him down a bit as they both approach the momument tiredly. His own vision wavers with the sweltering heat, dark spots dancing at the edges as Noctis slowly approaches the stone door. Twin statues flank the two of them, palms outstretched in welcome before the darkness inside devours them both. Again, he repeats to himself, they've come too far to turn back now. 

 

**018.**

 

A blistering headache spreads out from between his temples, moving to envelop the entirety of his skull as Ignis' eyes flicker open, unsure what he'd been expecting. The darkness of the morning greets him, a welcomed comfort, having not dreamed of anything at all for once. He doesn't know if it's a sign that his role is finished, but it's the first full night of sleep he's gotten in a long time. The day before had been trifling indeed with Noctis obtaining a sword from the tomb of the first, a long gold-plated claymore that resembled one of the the blades wielded by Bahamut according to the king. When his own fingers had moved over to the hilt, he had seen a brief image flash through his mind, the god maskless before who he presumed was the first king of Lucis Caelum line. The blade had been presented to him that day, held out by the Draconian as the mortal stood tall and proud, bearing a visage that resembled Noctis' too closely, the same raven hair and blue eyes. 

It had faded into memory as quickly as it appeared, and the blade had been lost to the annals of time for two millennium, protected by some arcane magic from graverobbers. Noctis now holds it in his armiger, though he hadn't said much after they reunited with Gladio and Prompto. Bearing the same exhaustion of battle as he, the two of them had slept through the entire train ride back. 

The comforting rattle of their compartment vibrates beneath Ignis as he stays tucked in his sleeping berth, his mind still dragging itself into wakefulness. He and Noctis had yet to spend a single moment's alone since they left the tomb which is for the better. Ignis hadn't devoted enough time yet to properly sorting his feelings out nor does he know if Noctis would try and seek a deeper relationship out with him. It could have been pure relief and adrenaline motivating his kiss, but he doesn't think that's entirely the case. Rather, he _knows_ there is a strong under-current of _something_ between them, yet neither of them had sought to define it at all before now. The fear of change had been too strong, unwilling to jeopardize their friendship and working relationship with a tenuous romance. 

However, setting reason aside, he'd enjoyed that kiss in a more visceral sense than he had a lot of kisses and a lot of evenings with past partners, temporary trysts that ended as soon as they'd begun. No one ever left the sort of permanent impression that Noctis does, no one had the same pull over him that had escalated past simple loyalty a long time ago.

It's a truth he'd yet to accept, unwilling to try and navigate through the ramifications of it until he'd been left with no choice. Now, he and Noctis have to decide where they go from here. Given Noctis' status as the king and his own as his advisor, a public relationship would be complicated, and while it would be more to Noctis' benefit politically to marry someone of royal status, he knows the king's heart has yet to fully heal from the loss of his former betrothed. He doesn't even know where he himself stands in relation. If it's only physical need and comfort that Noctis was acting on or something deeper. The answers only lay somewhere inside Noctis' heart, and he knows the other man would never speak those words easily, but it's a conversation they will have to have eventually. 

Perhaps, if life ever grants them another moment's respite like this, though he can hear Noctis' faint breathing across the room, his body most likely facing away from all of them given the low volume of the sound. His mind tries to focus on it for a bit longer, entranced by the soft inhalation and exhalation of his breaths, remembering how his mouth felt breathing into his and the ensuing shudder that rippled through him them like no other. He doesn't want to shake away the residual elation from that moment, but they'll reach their destination soon. 

That thought alone finally propels him to roll out of the berth and consider waking Noctis, but he stops with his hand short of being out-stretched, feeling a little guilty of disturbing him. It's because of Noctis that he himself had even survived the ordeal, well aware that even though he hadn't been conscious, he'd been protected by him. The fact that he still remains standing here now is a testament to Noctis' will, though he wishes he knew what the king had said or done to convince Bahamut. He wants to ask, but he's sure Noctis would only wave it off as inconsequential. Sincerity and honesty have always been the most difficult emotions for him to display openly, and as always, one has to read what he doesn't say to grasp the full meaning of whatever hides behind Noctis' eyes -eyes he wishes he could study now, having to contend himself with faded memories, and as much as he'd been trying to suppress the solemnity of such thoughts, it strikes a cord within him at the moment.

_He misses looking at him._

The last sight he'd ever seen, the closed lids, the gentle resting face. All he'll ever have is the memory he stole away with him that day, but he tries to continue to move forward, having no other direction to go. His steps guide him out of the small train cabin, and he uses his cane to move steadily through the hall. Voices chatter from the lounge along with the scent of alcohol and fried food. He can hear a camera going off in the distance, the sound leading him straight to Prompto who seems to perk up at his presence.

"Sleep well? You and Noct looked out of it when we found you." 

"I barely even recall leaving your side." 

Instinct had pulled him towards the oasis, running as though he knew he could make it somehow. When he reached inside, Noctis was already at the mercy of the Draconian, but he hadn't known particularly how he was able to cross the invisible barrier between nor how they escaped.The memories are still a bit of a haze, but he does recall the faint whispers of the Glacian's voice.

_Save the King_ , she pleaded, though why she could do nothing herself is a complete mystery. The only one who aided him had been Titan. Perhaps, the desert environment had been too infernal to sustain her magic, a likely strategic choice of the Draconian. Few other Astrals would be able to enter or use their magic inside, thus ensuring Noctis would be prey to his divine judgment. 

"Can't believe you took on an Astral without us. Always wanted to see what Bahamut looks like in person." 

"If it helps, I didn't exactly get to see him either." His own poor attempt at a light joke, one that he hopes doesn't make Prompto feel too guilty. 

Truthfully, he's not sure if Noctis would have fared better or worse with the other two at his side, but he can tell how much Prompto had worried for his friend. Since they'd nearly lost him to the Chancellor, Prompto hadn't gone a day without fretting over him and hoping it wouldn't be the final time they'd all be together. The pictures had grown in their numbers since then as though he'd been obsessively capturing every moment together, wondering which would be their last. It's difficult not to share that same fear, but they'd all sworn along ago to stay by Noctis' side, a pledge of friendship now than of duty. 

Gladio's signature musk and heavy steps predicate his arrival as his hulking figure appears next to him. His hand lands calmly between his shoulder blades, resting warmly against the fabric before sliding away completely, the touch one of quiet greeting. 

"Not everyday you sleep like the dead. Now we're just stuck waiting for Sleeping Grouchy to get up." 

"Knowing him, that may very well be another day," Ignis jests, though his face turns towards the direction of their cabin in slight concern. 

"Too bad we don't have all day. We're just about to get to our last stop." 

As if on cue, the announcer's booming voice indicates that they've approached the southern tip of Accordo, a small port city built along the coastline. It had only been narrowly spared from Leviathan's wrath during the attack, but their boat should be awaiting them there. When the train comes to a stop, Gladio volunteers to rouse the king, having to practically haul him out of the compartment while Noctis groans. 

"I'm going, I'm going." 

Ignis can hear his fumbling steps as he walks out of the train cart and falls in step behind them. The salt-tinged air fills his lungs as he inhales, awakened by the heavy scent that starts to feel somewhat like an aphrodisiac with as much as it reminds him of the king's own natural scent. He quickly stifles that thought beneath the day's pressing concerns, hoping to grab a fresh cup of coffee and something to eat. It's a sentiment shared by the rest as they march deeper into the city where the bakery windows remain open, enchanting them with the scent of freshly-baked bread and cinnamon rolls. 

They end up stopping to eat at an outdoor cafe, relishing the first meal they've had in days that hadn't been out of can. Gladio wolfs down his waffles ravenously while Noctis shares spicy sausages with Prompto, the two practically squabbling over their share. Ever to bring them all back to reality, Ignis reminds them of present circumstances.

"With the royal arm secured and the Mark of the Draconian, we'll have to return to our initial plans to head to Ravatogh." 

"What are we even supposed to face there?" Prompto asks, not bothering to disguise his dubiousness. 

Ignis doesn't blame him. He isn't quite sure he knows the answer to that either. "Did Bahamut tell you anything when you faced him?" he questions Noctis.

"Something about the Accursed... and his thrall. Whatever that means." 

A contemplative sound rolls off his own tongue as his finger crooks along his chin. Could it be that the Chancellor still remains alive? Or rather, a part of him still remains. Servants or followers of his, perhaps? 

" _'Lost, the sailor heeds the siren's call,'_ " Gladio absently recites, "' _Bewitched and enchanted, he enters her thrall…'_ " 

Prompto's the first to balk at those words but not for the same reasons as himself. "That would sound way more poetic if you didn't have a fork full of pancakes in your hand." 

The jab makes the corner of his own lips quirk upwards as he considers those words. "They're from a myth, aren't they?" 

"Yep. Sailors lost to the squalls of the waters here in Accordo wrote about the enchantress of the sea. Probably were talking about Leviathan."

Ignis nods quietly, letting the thought percolate in his mind a bit longer. "In ancient paintings, she was often depicted as a mermaid rather than the form we know her as, but I doubt she is who we will find in the mountain. Rather, the myth behind Ravatogh is that it's the final resting place of the Infernian." 

Could it be that the Accursed was in his thrall or the other way around? It's a mystifying revelation, but Ifrit is the only one of the Astrals they had yet to encounter. If they're to find any answers, they'll have to ask the Infernian himself. 

A sudden loud thud against the table makes him jump a little, head twisting towards the source, wondering if hearing that had somehow upset Noctis. It's true, the situation is particularly tense, but he wouldn't categorize it as dire just yet. 

"Noct?" he questions out loud before Gladio snorts in amusement.

"Looks like all that bickering over sausages took a lot out of him. He's out like a light again." 

Relief floods through him before he joins the other amused expressions around the table. "I suppose we could afford to spend one more evening here. I believe we've earned a bit of rest."

Prompto practically bolts out of his chair in excitement. "Really?! I'm hitting the beach. Going to catch a few nice sunset shots." 

"-and a few sunbathing girls," Gladio finishes for him. "Just try not to be creepy about it." 

"Hey, who said anything about that? Your words, not mine. What are we waiting for?" 

Gladio volunteers to help carry the prince on his back to the nearest motel, a seaside resort that boasts large rooms and equally large windows, something that Prompto confirms as he all but presses himself to the glass and starts snapping away. It's tempting to take a nap himself, but Ignis resists just for a little a while, idly listening to some of the recorded seismic reports around Ravatogh. The magnitude of the tremors are increasing substantially, meaning they may very well be on the right track. He only hopes they'll be able to face the Infernian if it comes to that.

The other two call out that they'll be going sightseeing for a bit, leaving him alone with the king who sleeps as soundly as he had on the train. He doesn't hear him stir for at least an hour, and by then, the sun's heat is spread out over one side of his own face, piercing overpoweringly through the window. It had been a clear morning like this when Noctis had woken up in Altissia, and he had only bad news to deliver.

Fortunately, circumstances are less dreadful this time around that he can actually enjoy the quiet rustle of clothes and bedsheets as Noctis sits up. 

"What time is it?" the king murmurs, undoubtedly sporting a case of bed hair that Ignis can't see.

In response, Ignis grabs his phone so he can play out the time for him, uncertain what the exact numbers are himself. The automated voice startles his friend, hearing him jerk from his position in bed before Noctis' warmth suddenly becomes all too palpable at his side. He must have shifted closer at some point, a fact that's becoming too debilitating to his reason at the moment as he all can do is pick up on the subtle scent curling against Noctis' skin, wishing in the back of his mind that he could press his nose, inhale everything that's him and only him, let it saturate his senses. 

"Where'd the others go?" 

"Sight-seeing. They may be gone for a few hours." 

He doesn't mean for those words to be suggestive at all, yet he still feels a moment's worth of titillation in saying that, as though he's inviting something lurid by even mentioning it. Whether or not Noctis picks up on it is something he can't ascertain as the king grows quiet and still. For a moment, he even thinks the other man has fallen asleep. That is, until he feels Noctis grab both of his hands and place them on his own face, laying them carefully over his features and cradling the back of them with his warm palms. 

Slowly, he guides Ignis' fingers from his eyelids to his lips until the tips rest on his mouth, feeling his gentle breath tickle along the surface of his skin, a tantalizing dance that makes Ignis' stomach twist in on itself with growing urgency. 

"Noct?" he tries, searching for some kind of explanation for this behavior, unsure why the king is acting like this yet not bearing the heart to ask him to stop. The sweetness of the gesture is something he may have craved in the back of his mind, fleeting thoughts long pushed aside now brimming at the forefront of his mind as Noctis unwittingly teases him. 

"I don't know what I'm doing," the king finally confesses, his words sounding more childish than his years, reminding him of the clumsy way he'd pushed their lips together just yesterday. "You know I don't." 

"Do you even know what you're trying to do?" Ignis asks carefully, feeling as though he's navigating through a minefield at the moment. He just doesn't know if or when the two of them will be devoured by the awaiting explosion. 

"Yeah, 'course, I do. Come on, I'm not that… you know." 

Words twisting around words. _It's always about what he doesn't say_. The long pauses, the endless silences. Even Ignis can find it frustrating trying to read those silences sometimes, doing his best to focus on the expressions morphing beneath his hands.

"I have an inkling of a guess, but at some point, you're going to have to say the words out loud." 

How long can he hide behind his father's legs? How long can he shy just out of sight? He's no longer the same child who held his hand to him when they first met, no longer the teenager who bit back his troubled words and took his anger out in his training, no longer the young adult who retreated into his covers rather than admit when he was pained, lost, or confused. 

Their linked touch drops, Noctis releasing him so he can capture Ignis' cheeks in his grip instead, pulling him close until their lips brush together, and it's sweeter, gentler, more tentative than the last time they kissed. There's something searching in his lips, hesitation and fear captured in the bare contact before Noctis breaks away. 

"I don't know when things changed. I just know… has nothing to do with whatever powers you have now. Blind or not… I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me, when all this happened. I'm sorry I can't fix it - _you_. Not that you need fixing." His voice wavers at the end, the syllables tapering into a hoarse breath as he struggles to continue. "I'm sorry, _I'm sorry._ "

Again, his voice dies down, and Ignis feels the tightness of Noctis' arms around him, the scent of him filling his nostrils, the scent of him everywhere at once when he inhales. His own hands don't know where to find purchase, hovering awkwardly in the air before slowly settling on the king's taut back. 

"There's nothing to be sorry for," Ignis tells him quietly, his hand moving in a gentle circle, "I knew the consequences of my actions yet did not hold back in carrying them out because it was you." 

Because he wanted to protect _his friend_ -not the king. Not their future. Not their hope.

"I should be the one offering you my gratitude for protecting me in return," he continues. 

Noctis gives his shirt a sharp tug in response, shifting to put some space between them.

"You're not going to argue with me on who owes the other more, now?" 

The reply makes him shake with a withheld chuckle.

"Fair enough. Then what would you rather I say?" 

Silence falls upon the room once more, the king sitting still in front of him, probably trying to find a way to evade answering the question. Ignis isn't even sure what he's looking to hear at all, and he doesn't want to really put him on the spot. On the other hand, they've already avoided confrontation for over a year now. 

"Does it bother you when I-" a stilted sound follows those words, breath tapering off fast before Noctis punctuates the question by gripping the back of his neck, pulling his lips tight to his own. 

The sweetness dissolves into something more overtly sensual, a feeling he hadn't thought Noctis to be capable of exuding purposefully, yet he shows him with the tilt of his head, the deepening of his breaths that drift surreptitiously into Ignis' mouth, making him want so much more yet fear it at the same time. When the king pulls back, the longing remains, a throbbing, incessant urge budding both in the back of his mind and between his thighs as he tries to focus on the conversation at hand.

"No," he answers honestly, his voice degraded into a soft whisper.

That seems to be all it takes to ignite a spark that suddenly flares up between their bodies as Noctis twists his fingers in his shirt, pulls him until their bodies collide on the bed, and his fingernails crawl up his back, coiling around the fabric of his shirt as he transforms into elbows, knees, the sharp angles of hips where they dig into his own. It's then that it occurs to Ignis with sinking dread how new Noctis is to all this, untouched by any other hands, perhaps having wanted once to only share this side of himself with his betrothed. Now, he's the one left to fill the gaps, only he worries that they're moving too fast, falling prey to Noctis' reckless impulsion while his own own more careful instincts try to parse through how far they can go with this.

Gladio and Prompto could return any second yet Noctis' hands move unbidden, touch-starved and desperate in the way they cloy and paw at his shirt until it comes untucked -until his fingers find purchase on his bare back and scrape over the sensitive surface. The sensation shouldn't prove to be as erotic as it is, awakening dulled senses to the raw feel of contact. He'll drown if he continues, find himself unable to withdraw, intoxicated by Noctis' unconscious allure when he should be teaching him to take his time, telling him not to plunge himself so easily and rashly into his desires. 

"Slow down," he murmurs in the most unconvincing command as Noctis' pelvic bone presses into him, the hardened edges felt through the flimsy fabric of his clothes as his body heat diffuses straight through the layers in overwhelming waves. 

"Do you want me to stop?" Noctis asks him with more seriousness than he'd ever expect out of the young king as though he really would obey him if he so much as said the word. 

"No," Ignis finds himself answering again, sealing his own fate for the afternoon.

If it's all over after this, if this is the only night they get to spend together, then so be it. He'll have to live with the consequences in exchange for careless indulgence, wanting to know what it's like to have Noctis in his hands, to hold, cling, press into him, press _inside_ him. The imminence of that thought overrides any and all others, drawing Noctis close as he captures his mouth, and the king is all tongue and no grace, the wet twist of it licking beneath his, teeth plucking and pulling until his bottom lip threatens to break against the blunt edges.

His own fingers slide into the king's hair, moving through the soft strands, feeling along the length that touches his shoulders, the ends curled and smelling heavily of the sea. He wants to press his nose to it, inhale deeply where the scent is at its most potent, but he resists, unwilling to tear from Noctis' over-eager mouth just yet. He can feel his own mouth blooming with fresh bruises, the skin swelling until Noctis starts to attack his jawline and neck, always with bites as though he's uncertain what feels good. Everything he does is wrought with inexperience and no coordination, the unwieldy touch of a child trying to fit into the shoes of a man without really understanding the nuances of intimacy, but there's something unquestionably captivating in the raw way he throws himself into this, trying to prove his readiness with overcompensating brashness. 

There's no measure or control to how his hips buck up against him, seek contact and drag up and down in a frenetic pace as the king's legs wind loosely around his waist, doing anything he can to paste their bodies together. Ignis allows him out of curiosity, subtly enjoying the way Noctis tries to assert himself all while clearly wrangling with the notions of what feels good and what _should_ feel good. It would be too easy to show him, to pin his arms to his side, to give in to the silent demand to be touched and pleasured, but Ignis wants to feel Noctis for all that he is, faults, imperfections, insecurities -the messy saliva across his skin, the crooked angle of his thrusts, the way he muffles his moans by pushing his mouth tight against Ignis' collar bone. He can only encourage it all as he strokes the outsides of Noctis' thighs and feels the king grit out some sound like he's suffocating right against his ear.

His own body responds in kind, the tight coalescing heat and pressure that builds too fast against his thighs, cock pushed tight against the strangling fabric of his underwear as he feebly tries to relieve the pressure by pushing into Noctis' hip. Feeling it so viscerally, the king adjusts himself, jolting up to try and line their growing arousals together through their clothes, and grows more audibly frustrated when the friction only frays harshly at his nerve endings instead of providing any relief. 

"Ignis," he says, tugging his untucked shirt along with the breathless sound of his name, "I- ... _off_ \- can we- " 

The words sound painful to get out as Noctis shuffles against him and pushes his body away for a moment. Ignis briefly wonders if he'll be the one to ask him to stop, but then he feels clumsy fingers pulling and tugging at his pants, doing what he can to haphazardly open them. Noctis' warm palm cradles the length of his cock after, pushed hot against the column of flesh and applying just enough pressure to make Ignis' entire will collapse. 

" _Yes?_ " he whispers back, the sound more of an affirmation than a question, doing his best to resist the urge to thrust into that awkward touch. 

"Oh, uh... _shit_ ," is Noctis' ever-elegant response before the prince pushes his face into his shoulder as though trying to hide his expression.

Ignis has never wished to see it more than he does right now, trying to paint the picture in his head of what Noctis might look like overwhelmed with pleasure, desire, want, _so much want_. He himself has never wanted anything more, having to contend with his imagination because he has no frame of reference at all. The closest to bliss the prince has ever gotten before him had been in tasting some of his more indulgent desserts, eyes shut tight, lips pursed together, a soft sound of appreciation wrangled loose that Ignis always filed away somewhere. Perhaps, he really had been attracted to him for longer than he even realized. 

"That wasn't an actual response," Ignis unhelpfully points out as he struggles to get his own bearings.

One of his hands combs through the hair at the nape of Noctis' neck when he realizes the king is shaking a little as though he's ready to burst underneath him. He can't tell if it's from pleasure or sheer anxiety, but he does his best to both soothe him and encourage him to keep going at once.

"I mean-," he starts before stopping himself, swallowing around a lump in his throat then grasping Ignis' face with both his hands. Ignis can taste the sausage on his breath from earlier, the eclectic blend of spices and the melon soda he'd drank, making an interesting aroma waft out, "I don't know how long we'll have. I don't know if I'll die soon or in several years-"

Ignis' eyebrows rise as he listens to king's words, pausing to try and focus on each tone and inflection, but all he can pick up from them is rare brutal honesty.

"I don't want you to stop at all is what I mean."

He can guess what he's actually getting at while avoiding saying the words outright, though Ignis wonders if he's even ready if he can't even ask for it. Again, Gladio and Prompto could walk in any second, and the both are them in a less than exemplary state at the moment. Yet, he can't find it in himself to actually deny him because the chances to be together will be few and far between. He may not know what's in store for them either, but they have nearly a decade's worth of putting off what they should have said long ago. Time is always too fickle, and love, lust, attraction don't wait until its most convenient for anyone. 

"Noct, have you thought this through?" 

"You know the answer is already no." 

True. He's just stalling now while he tries to find a reason to deny him, but his mind is blank and his body is victim to the an all-consuming desire to continue, to make Noctis' words scatter further, hear his voice escalate for all the images of him he can no longer capture with his sight. 

"We'll need lotion. I believe I have some in my bag." 

His expression grows concerned when Noctis doesn't move at all. 

"Why?" the king asks instead, "My hands aren't that dry." 

A statement that makes him reconsider having agreed to this at all. He shoots Noctis a look of disbelief, unsure if he's in the right frame of mind to explain it, especially since Noctis seems more limited in the subject than he first imagined, and time is of the essence. Fortunately, a lightbulb seems to go off on inside his head because the next thing he knows, Noctis is diving quickly towards his travel pack.

"Right, right... I get it now." 

The lotion is pressed into Ignis' palm with no further preamble before he searches out for where Noctis' body is, trying to coerce him to lie back. One finger flicks the cap open before he drops the bottle and feels around until he locates Noctis' hips, both hands drawing over the sharp bones jutting from his low slung pants. He can't stop himself from rubbing the pads of his fingers against them and tracing along the shape, hearing Noctis suck his air in before he reaches down to aid him in moving his underwear and pants down his legs together. 

It's not the first time he's touched him while he'd been so bare, recalling how he helped him into the tub not too long ago, but the context is completely different. Noctis is no longer the fragile near-corpse he'd been, reacting to every stroke of his hands by fidgeting in place and pressing up into his palms, more unhinged than he'd been back then. He wonders if Noctis enjoyed the close contact back then, if he'd flinched with embarrassment because he was afraid of how he'd react to their proximity. Just when had Noctis stopped looking towards him as a brother -when had the security they felt with one another transform into yearning? He can't pinpoint an exact moment himself, only aware it happened so gradually that he hadn't noticed until it had overwhelmed him.

Now he's caught in the tangle of Noctis' grip, fingers melting into his own shoulder blades, pulling and scratching at the skin as Ignis lifts the other man's lower body enough that he can wedge his touch between his cheeks, searching with a quickened pace, knowing time is running out. In a better world, he'd be able to take his time, prepare him better, relax him with his lips tracing over as much of his skin as he can reach, licking, _tasting_ until Noctis can't bear the pleasure any longer -until his body is on the verge of falling apart.

He sincerely hopes there will be a next time and a time after that, selfishness spurned by the escalating breaths that tumble out of Noctis' throat as the king willingly raises his hips even more. There's no fear or hesitation there, only a trust that Ignis hopes he deserves as he moves lotion-slick fingers into him, feels the heat of his inner muscles clamp down around him.

"How does it feel?" he asks, hoping it doesn't hurt nor frighten Noctis away from the act. He knows his own first time had been less than stellar, but intimacy had never been a pressing necessity for him.

His previous engagements had always been fleeting, aimless encounters that rarely left an impression, each partner claiming his duty always came first to him -they didn't want to compete with his work for attention. He regrets not having been more attentive nor more adventurous then, but he doesn't regret it at the same time if it gave him this moment right now. 

"It's …new? Weird? We don't have a lot of time here." 

A fact that's becoming too palpable as he keeps hearing footsteps outside the door, trampling through the hallway -perhaps children running amuck? Or the staff wheeling laundry carts through. His own nerves stand on edge as he nods to himself and adds more lotion to his fingers, so they can slide easier through Noctis' body, trying to relax and massage him as best as he can.

If Noctis has anything else to add, the words give away to a shuddered breath, feeling the full-bodied quiver that wracks through him before Noctis squeezes all around him. With this much tight pressure, he can't imagine how he'll fit at all unless Noctis learns to release all the tension in his body, though he may very well have to disarm him a bit quicker. That means being a bit less merciful with his touch as his body slips down over Noctis' body to allow his warm breath to tickle over the length of his cock. The scent of him is stronger still, a heavy aroma he unconsciously inhales in before blowing across his skin. 

Noctis' whole body jolts upwards in response, hips canting away from the bed as he bites out a curse, and the jagged, broken nails from his fingers twist harder into his skin, practically cutting through the surface. 

"What are you trying to do?" he hisses out, trying to sound indignant instead of on the verge of rupture. 

"Relax." 

His breath draws over Noctis' cock once more, lips open and brushing ever so lightly across the underside before he pushes the tip of his tongue against the tip and tastes him there where the flavor of his skin is at its strongest, and it's all so unquestionably _him_ that Ignis fights the urge to wring out more pre-come from his body. He knows Noctis won't last, practically teetering on the edge as his frenzied breaths scatter between the four walls, silently pleading for more. 

His own body throbs with a powerful pounding sensation that emanates from his core, wanting to do all he wants and so much more, still wishing there was time to really enjoy being with him like this. Wishing they had more years ahead of them, wishing against fate that this won't be the last time he'll hear his voice say his name the way he does when he's deep inside of him, fingers crooking at the exact time his tongue presses over salt-tinged flesh, licking upwards and seeing just how far Noctis will let him thrust in this time.

He hears a muffled sound, imagining that Noctis' hand found its away to his mouth as its no longer holding him with a deadly grip. Another choked gasp spills out as Ignis moves a second finger inside him, the sound equally hidden behind cover, and Ignis still wishes he had more than Noctis' voice alone to paint the picture for him.

The desire is so strong that he ends up feeling around the upper half of Noctis' body until he can grab his wrist and pull the hand away entirely. The same hand is brought to his lips, kissing the knuckles almost apologetically before murmuring-  

"If there's one thing I may ask of you, Noct… I wish to hear you." 

He doesn't know what expression Noctis is giving him in return, imagining it's something akin to guilt when Noctis doesn't respond right away, but then the king curls both his hands behind his ears and crushes Ignis' mouth against his as hard as he can manage. It hurts, but it's the sweetest ache that bites right into him as Noctis holds him captive. His legs move around him, damp cock bobbing between them as it presses into Ignis' stomach, and he knows all his aspirations to be slow and careful are futile at the point. He wants him too much right now, desperate to slide between his thighs -desperate to be surrounded by him, his scent, his voice, his wild nails, his unforgiving teeth, his stuttered words and breathless cries. 

Both his own hands shake this time, frazzled to the point of delirium as he frees his own neglected arousal from its confines and rubs as much as lotion as he can across his flesh. The time for being measured and careful had faded long ago, giving way to desperation and sheer _need_ , trying his hardest to whisper an apology as he pushes inside Noctis, and it's messy trying to press into his body, the excess lotion dribbling everywhere and doing very little to ease his passage as Noctis tenses around him like a merciless vice.

His own face scrunches up in discomfort, biting his own lower lip to withhold a curse that lingers there, knowing while Noctis may not mind hearing it, he certainly would mind saying it, having trouble letting go of his own control even at a time like this. 

"Noct," he breathes out instead, his head feeling light as there's too much heat crushed into his front side, too many of Noctis' fingers on his skin. 

"I'm fine," the king says quickly, though the hitch in his voice says he's very much not fine. Neither of them are. Lotion is a poor substitute for actual lubricant, and Noctis is too new on this. Logic dictates they should stop, but Noctis doesn't let him pull away, legs crossed around his waist to force him from moving. 

" _Don't_ ," Noctis warns him. 

A resigned sigh flees his lips, having a hard time arguing when he's buried so deep inside Noctis that the heat of his body practically sears right through him. 

"I don't want to hurt-" Ignis feebly tries to explain in return. 

"You won't." 

Noctis has more faith in that fact than he does at the moment as he tries to maneuver himself enough to chance a single thrust. The awkward shifting causes the other man to groan in displeasure before he feels one of his hands wrenched into Noctis' grip, fingers lacing unbearably tight with his own.

"I can do this," Noctis reassures him, squeezing their fingers in the intimate hold and melting his resolve completely.

"You're impossible."

His tone makes it obvious that he's teasing him, but there's no way he can ever really deny him. Ever since he first held his smaller fingers in his hand and beheld his smile, he knew he would never be able to find the will to. If he could feel and hear that smile in his voice…

It's a fleeting thought that whispers through his mind as he starts rocking into Noctis' body anew. This time, it's with uneasy thrusts, moving slow enough to get Noctis used to the feeling and hoping he'll unwind around him instead of continuously clam up from fear. It takes too long until he feels like he can move with more assurance, a clock ticking in the back of his head that shatters with dread when he hears something outside the door. 

Noctis also freezes beneath him and seems to hold his breath while they both wait for the footsteps to either walk inside or wander off. When they finally do, they let out a collective breath together, and Noctis tells him, "Stop holding back."

Perhaps it's the fear of another close call that drives him forward, panic fused into his bones that blends haphazardly with his rampant desire as he slips the hand that isn't clutching Noctis' like a lifeline to the small of his back, using it to raise the king's hips just a bit more so he can thrust into him in earnest. It's no less awkward than before, out of practice and trying to get used to the complete shock to his senses that is doing all of this without his sight. Unable to see any of Noctis' reactions, he always has to trust that Noctis' voice is steering him well, pointedly listening for his escalating groans as he pushes into him.

It takes a while to find the right rhythm with Noctis, only falling into it when Noctis moves his hips and meets his thrust in a delirious dance that starts to wear his inner restraints to shreds, and somewhere between Noctis' hoarse breaths and his fingers all moving to grip at his back, he finally loses himself completely. Self-control corrodes, hungry for the sound Noctis makes when he thrusts in particularly hard, the way the king half-growls at his name against his ear before biting into the lobe.

A beast lays trapped beneath him, clawed hands practically tearing the threads on his shirt as Noctis comes further undone, and his voice is sharp, punctuated, without anything to silence the rapture born from it. He falls prey to powerful words lost in the king's throat, all the love and gratitude lain bear in the sound of his name that no one else can say. It's all Noctis ends up repeating as though he's gone mad, the sound softer and more broken as his own thrusts grow so careless, so frenzied, thinking perhaps he's the one in Noctis' thrall at the moment, a feeling that grows all the more palpable when Noctis embraces him as close as their bodies can get.

And his senses are filled with Noctis everywhere, breathing him in, tasting his skin on his tongue, feeling his feverish temperature wrapped around him, and hearing his voice twisted in a suffocated sound as his release rolls down his stomach. He barely lasts much longer, suffocated himself by the intense pressure of Noctis' body clenching around him, thrown over the edge by the entrancing sound of his friend, _his king_ , at his most vulnerable. 

With a heavy breath, he comes, wishing he could say Noctis' name the same way he does his, wishing he could convey all his want and joy in the single syllable. Noctis will never understand just how naked his emotions sound when he's on the precipice of falling apart.

It's difficult to move afterwards, his limbs protesting with budding soreness while fighting against the tantalizing warmth of Noctis' arms. One of Noctis' palms cradles the back of his head while the king rests his head on his shoulder, and Ignis is engrossed by the sound of his panting, so much that he almost misses the words he whispers.

"What... does this make us now?" he asks in a small voice.

Ignis has to try a few times to find his own voice before answering, "Two very tired people in need of a bath." 

An amused snort falls out of Noctis' nose, a huffed out sound before he releases against Ignis' neck before his arms flop noisily to the mattress. "Real funny." 

He hadn't really considered the repercussions at all -or rather, he'd tossed them aside in favor of indulgence, something he can't say he regrets, though he has no proper answer for Noctis yet. He doesn't know if he ever shall. Given their positions, leading an open relationship would prove troubling, yet he doesn't want this to be the only time they'll embrace like this. That had been the only prevalent thought in his mind since Noctis had kissed him the day before. 

"Perhaps, I'll have a more proper answer for you when we return to Insomnia." 

_If_ they return, but Ignis doesn't want to give that thought any further consideration. For now, he's content to indulge in a bit of escapism with Noctis as he remains lying against him for just a bit longer. May time grant them more days like this. 

 

**019.**

 

The boat ride back to Caem proves to be eerily quiet with Prompto sitting as far from Noctis as possible while Gladio tries to avoid his stare. The only one regarding him with any sense of normalcy is Ignis, who is seated next to him, absently listening to something from his phone using his earbuds. What it is, he can't tell, but the quiet is making him more nervous than comfortable as his hands lie limp against his thighs. Normally, he'd sleep a long trip like this away, but he can't bring himself to when Prompto keeps fidgeting like he wants to say something. It's getting a little tiring, especially when he feels like he's not in on the conversation happening over his head, and eventually, Noctis snaps out of a combination of the overwhelming discomfort of sitting down right now and the heavy cloud of awkwardness currently suffocating any degree of normalcy between them all. 

"What?" he asks irritably, and his eyes dart between Prompto and Gladio accusingly.

The blond exchanges a tell-tale look with Gladio before he opens and shuts his mouth few times. He then fusses with one of the limp strands of hair dragging down from the usual tilted tower that stands atop his head. It seems as though he's unlikely to get any answers out of him, so he turns to Gladio with a more pointed expression. The older man heaves out a sigh as though he'd much rather do anything else than talk at the moment.

"Prompto overheard you two yesterday then freaked out." 

The blunt confession makes Prompto balk harder than even Noctis, instantly trying to defend himself.

"I didn't freak out! I just thought a heads up would have been nice. 'Hey, we're both gonna be busy studying a little anatomy together. Don't bother coming back for a few hours~'" 

He manages to say the latter in a terrible impression of Noctis' voice, and Noctis would feel offended if it were not for the fact that he's busy trying to withhold his cringe. Did he really hear... all that? How much? _What part??_ Noctis doesn't exactly want to ask, but the implications leave him feeling a new level of mortified that he hadn't been certain he could achieve. Is it too late to leap off the side of the boat and swim back to Accordo? 

Both hands cover his own face, burying his reaction against his palms.

"I told you we shouldn't have said anything!" Prompto hisses at Gladio. "Look, he's all red now." 

Gladio lets out an amused snort before muttering, "It's about damn time." 

Had they been that obvious? Even so, this isn't the conversation he wanted to have heading back, and his eyes dart towards Ignis who remains blissfully engrossed with his ear buds on. Whether or not he hears them is difficult to tell when his expression remains unchanging, almost concernedly so. He's not the only one who notices as all eyes fall on their friend, and Prompto is the one who chances jostling him.

It's then that Ignis jolts out of whatever trance he'd been in, fingers quickly plucking the earbuds from his face before he dabs at the sweat on his face with a handkerchief.

"Zoned out there, buddy?" Prompto asks carefully, his brows knit together with concern.

While Noctis is glad that the attention has shifted away from him, he doesn't feel any real ease at the moment, studying Ignis' expression closely. He wonders if he had some new vision or dream but isn't sure if he wants to ask out loud in front of everyone. The nature of Ignis' powers are still a little difficult to grasp, especially for the man who now has them himself. He wonders if Luna had somehow transferred them over. There are so many questions still left unanswered, and Ignis' silence on the subject aggravates his worry even further. 

"There was a 6.1 magnitude earthquake near the Ravatogh region. No deaths but a few injured. The area is fairly clear except for a rest stop close by that's being evacuated at the moment. There are multiple warnings of an oncoming eruption. We have very little time." 

Sinking dread crawls along the pit of Noctis' stomach as he absorbs those words, trying to steel himself for the upcoming battle. He only hopes they'll survive at the end, though he'd told Ignis all he wanted to last night. Afraid he'd lose the chance, he'd abandoned his inhibitions completely and allowed urgency to take over, but that doesn't mean he's in any hurry to rush to his death. If anything, he'd like to prolong the time they all get to spend together and to explore whatever it is budding between them, still left unnamed -probably for the better. Noctis still hasn't adjusted to royal life, preferring the taste of the outdoors more and more, the freedom of the musty Citadel office rooms that hold too many painful memories now. Every now and then, he'd find flecks of blood on the corners of the tables and would have to sit there wondering if any of it is his own father's or Gladio's. 

How many of his own ancestors had perished there? So many memories of their victories and defeats stirred like sand in the wind, victim to the twisting shape of an evolving world. Now, only he carries those memories within, memories he should pass on to an heir, but he doesn't want to place the burden on any next of kin. The Lucis line should die with him. That means the idea of any political marriages is off the table, not wanting to forsake Luna's memory with another betrothal either. If there is any leader after him, it should be one chosen -hopefully by the people and not the Astrals. 

No one else should have to bear what he has and what he will continue to bear as time moves like the flipping pages of a book. 

They all manage to reach Caem after nearly a day of sailing, greeted by angered clouds and heavy rain. It smacks into them violently, a precursor for the upcoming battle as they all rush in to escape it. Iris' garden no longer blooms, the plants having shriveled from neglect after she moved full-time to Insomnia. She'd spoken a few times about coming out to tend to it but had grown busy with her own training to join the Crownsguard. Much of the halls that used to be teeming with life had grown quiet, cobwebs caught in corners along with a thick layer of dust on all the furniture. Ignis still remembers the layout well enough to navigate himself to the kitchen to fix them supper while Noctis takes a long hot shower. There's something sobering about the beads of clean water drawing down his back and chest, letting it soothe him into a relaxed state where he feels like he can almost pass out against the warm spray.

His mind tries not to trickle back to the evening before, the grip of Igis' fingers still leaving faint impressions where they touched as his skin flushes hotter from the memory. Everything about him had been overwhelmingly magnetic from the way his lips felt, broken, dry against his own, to the weight of his body melting over him, the crushing force of warmth that left Noctis breathless and unhinged. Ignis might still be having lingering doubts about the two of them, but Noctis has lost too much to want to take anything else for granted. So now he's jumping on what little chance they have, clinging to it and trying to avoid the reality of his eventual return to Insomnia.

It feels like just a year ago he'd been here thinking the same, looking to escape the realities of wearing the crown on his head, wanting to hide away in this hovel where flashbulbs aren't going off at every given second, and every word, every action is under constant scrutiny. He'd missed the freedom of being on the road and wonders how it'd have been like if his life had taken a different turn and if he'd lived out the rest of his days on the outback as a hunter. The thought is almost too sweet for him to let go of as he finally steps out of the shower. 

Water sluices heavily down the side of his face as his hair curls in tiny rings at the ends, far too long and unkempt for royalty. He picks up a few strands in a messy half pony tail before tugging his clothes on and retiring to one of the bedrooms. Prompto is already seated on the bed, back resting against the headboard while he goes through all the pictures saved on his camera. 

"Got a good one of you asleep at that cafe we went to." 

"Don't remind me. Woke up with jelly on one side of my face."

Prompto snickers at the memory before tugging Noctis down next to him. "It almost looks like a smiley face on your cheek." 

"How come you never have your camera on you when I do something badass?"

"Oh, I do, but usually I'm too busy being badass with you to take a photo." 

Prompto's elbow jostles him the side playfully while Noctis continues to skim the rest of his photos, idly swiping from one to the other before pausing on a shot of them all at his last birthday party. It had been the photo they all wished Ignis could have seen back then. Noctis recalls the mixed feelings of joy and unease he felt that night, knowing that his friend would never be able to see all the memories he missed while apart, and his finger idly traces over the empty space next to Gladio where he would have stood. It's a constant reminder of what he stands to lose, how palpable that loss is even for a brief moment. He'd felt a similar ache when he'd knocked Prompto off the train, watching the expression of terror Prompto wore and hating himself passionately at that moment for being tricked. How could Prompto have forgiven him? He still thinks he doesn't deserve it now as he sees him smile next to him as though none of it had ever happened, the easy way Prompto slides his arm around his shoulders and tugs him in close, the quiet laugh that flutters from between his lips, the fresh smell of spring-scented soap and generic shampoo they both now share after their respective showers.

"Don't look so sulky, I got a couple good ones of Ignis here for you. Still mad you didn't tell me you both were in L-O-." 

One of Noctis' hands clamps over Prompto's mouth, silencing the rest of that statement as all sentiment from earlier is replaced with rampant embarrassment. This is not how he wanted any of them to find out, hoping he could have just talked about it over milkshakes or something. 

"Can it, we're not- ...it's not-," he struggles, searching for the right words to really describe what he's feeling now. "... it's different. We're friends first. Everything doesn't have to change."

But it already had, so it's futile trying to hold onto the past as it slips through his grip.

"I get it, but you know, you don't have to hide it. Not like I wouldn't be happy for you, and it means less competition for me."

Those words earn Prompto a playful elbowing in return before Noctis hands the camera back. "Your biggest competition has always been yourself, but-" he smiles a bit, ducking his head to hide some of his face behind his bangs, "-thanks. Should have said something, but I was figuring it all out." 

He still is, unsure what it means about him -unsure if what he felt for Luna went deeper than childhood dreams, unsure if he's attracted to guys or girls, unsure what kind of love he feels for Ignis. There just never had been much of an opportunity to really lay it all out for himself and figure it out properly, having spent so long shelving away his feelings until it's always been too late. Then grief had become an overshadowing chapter in his life that made it hard to find the will to pursue anything more, but he's slowly moving past it. Slowly moving forward. 

"Anytime you want to spill, you know I'm here. Not like you don't always hear me out." 

A shared look of contentment passes between them while Prompto squeezes Noctis closer to his side before releasing him entirely so he can stretch out. 

"Does this mean we gotta change sleeping arrangements? Don't make me sleep with Gladio. You know how bad his gas is sometimes." 

The memory of it still haunts him, too many nights spent cramped in a tent after the oldest of their group had gorged himself on beans. Since then, it's been banned from the menu. 

"Ugh, well at least he doesn't talk about Cindy in his sleep like a certain someone I know." 

"That was _one_ time! And if we're talking about bad sleeping habits here, at least Gladio doesn't drool all over the pillow." 

They continue to descend into their playful squabble until dinner time comes around. It proves to be livelier than the last meals they shared together with Ignis discussing the finer points of the fresh-picked oregano around Caem, and Prompto teasing him about having just delivered a culinary manifesto in the span of five minutes. They laugh together with unbidden mirth, trading jabs like this had all taken place two years earlier until evening arrives. The whole house is blanketed by the star-studded sky surrounding the outside, and Noctis ends up sleeping with his back touching Ignis', the warm column of his spine digging comfortingly into his own, a constant reminder that he's within arm's reach. He feels him shift with every breath, each more poignant than the next, and dreams of floating on the surface of the ocean as the warm water cradles him on all sides. 

It lulls him into a heavy sleep, and he almost doesn't want morning to come. However, it pierces through without mercy as some of the local bird population caws their way into the faded remnants of his slumber. His body feels corpse-like as it rises from his bed, clothes grabbed with haphazard care, dragged on while Ignis' cooking already wafts inside the room. They eat with the unsteadiness of four men knowing they're walking head first into a fire pit, the previous night's contentment all but dissipated. 

Ignis' face is the most grim out of all of them as he packs away their supplies in the trunk of Gladio's car. He may have seen something disconcerting, something he's not sharing, inciting Noctis to watch his expression closely, trying to search for some hint of what it could be. While he would like to press him for it, he's sure if it were anything truly devastating, Ignis wouldn't hold his tongue at all. Still, he can't quite let the matter go to rest, and it gnaws stubbornly at the back of his mind through the entire car ride to Ravatogh. He'd normally nap soundly through it, but right now, all he can do is look outside with a compounding feeling of dread as though something will jump out at them at each turn. Fortunately, nothing ever does, and most of the drive remains uneventful.

It isn't until they start to close in on the Ravatogh trail that they spot something eerie. At first, it looks like a procession of sorts, hordes and hordes of beasts gathering at the foot of the volcano, obviously drawn by some unseen force. Noctis motions to Gladio to remove the car's top to take a better look before hiking himself up on the backseat and peering at the distant shapes. There must be over thousands of beasts gathered there, marching without attacking one another, their eyes glowing a sickly yellow as their skin hangs by threads from their bones. They don't even react when the ground trembles beneath, a sign of the awakening volcano. 

"What is it?" Ignis asks as Gladio stops the car completely. 

"The undead... they're all gathered here," Gladio replies, his eyes widening in disblief. 

Noctis catches the stricken look on Ignis' face before the man murmurs, " _Lost, the sailor heeds the siren's call..._." 

They're being controlled by something. Noctis has a few guesses as to what, but they'll have to go down there to see for themselves. The difficult part would be getting by unnoticed, unwilling to risk being grossly outnumbered by the sheer number of creatures collected in one spot. The four of them leave the car parked out of sight before walking as stealthily as they can alongside the long march, listening to the quiet, pained groans of the beasts as they're forced to continue onward past their deaths. The line of them seems almost endless as it curls up along the entire trail until they reach the foot of the volcano where the rocks are already being dislodged unsteadily from the ground, steam rising from different fissures while the heat underneath struggles to burst out from the sheer amount of pressure built up below the ground's surface.

A loud, virulent growl rips across the unyielding sea of lamentations, booming sharply in a way that makes all four of them immediately duck behind the nearest outcropping of rocks. The ground then trembles with what Noctis believes is a tremor at first until he sees something large and covered in dark-colored fur. It peeks out from behind the procession, the pronounced shape of its lumbering form with two -no, three- heads looming out. From his vantage point, he spies a long glowing chain attached to their necks, the other end nowhere in sight, lost somewhere towards the summit.

"What do you think it is?" Prompto asks quietly, his hand tightly clutching Noctis' shoulder with a grip that indicates his current apprehension. 

"Cerberus," Gladio answers swiftly, "Dad used to say there were plenty captured by Niflheim to unleash on the Lucian wall. The Kingsglaive had a hell of a time trying to take just one out." 

And the Kingsglaive vastly outnumbered the four of them. He wonders if this is where they were captured from, and if there are more waiting around for them somewhere along the mountain. It's not an answer he's eager to find out, and he chokes down the growing lump in his throat before clambering up even higher. The volcano shakes beneath them more erratically, this time the product of an escalating tremor trying to discourage them from going any further as though the cerberus alone couldn't do that. It's a challenge to remain standing as gravity wages a savage war against their legs, and Gladio ends up grabbing a hold of Ignis who has the hardest time of them all finding his footing on the unsteady ground. 

Prompto helps Gladio hoist him up closer to the base of Ravatogh, his hand clenched tight around Ignis' forearm. 

"How are we going to get passed the cerberus? It looks like it's guarding the easiest path up." 

Ignis' brow furrows in contemplation, growing quiet and still for a moment. It looks as though he's fallen into another trance, but he visibly shakes his head out of it, fingers curling against his temple for a moment. "We have no choice but to fight our way up."

"Not the answer I was hoping for," Prompto grumbles, but it's not as though they're unused to beating the odds.

Rather, it's a rare day when anything seems to fall squarely in their favor, and there's no time to mull over numbers when Ravatogh is due to blow any second. Whether or not it will claim the lives of all these beasts isn't their real concern. It's what's waiting up there for them that's their biggest threat. 

A flask appears in Ignis' hand as he tells them all he'll give them a signal when ready, mapping out a quick formation on the ground floor with his gloved fingers. Noctis will have the hardest task of keeping the cerberus busy and avoiding its three gaping maws while Gladio and Prompto will take it on from the rear. At which point, Ignis will try and unleash a flurry of ice attacks to stop the creatures in their tracks -or at least slow them down considerably. 

With a quick nod, Noctis launches his sword towards the cerberus before warp-striking in front of it and landing in a crouch. The stones burn his legs as he squats over them, making him quick to throw himself into a series of airstrikes afterwards, only narrowly avoiding the fangs that snap at him viciously. He zips from one head to the next, striking fast with a criss-cross of blows before swapping out to his knives and throwing them hard at the slobbering maws as he slips away. His body lands in a rough roll across the ground before sprinting behind a large stone so he can quickly recover his mana while Gladio and Prompto temporarily hold the cerberus at bay.

Its loud, anguished roar summons some of the other undead beasts closer, reacting to the cerberus' call with instant fury and leaving Noctis less time to recover. He only barely moves out of the way of a rotted Garula tusk aiming to buck him to pieces, feeling the earth's heat bite and char at his skin as he scuttles away from the charge. As if to make the situation more dire, a behemoth comes rushing to try and take out Prompto and Gladio, its claw slashing viciously in their direction while they desperately escape its pursuit. Noctis sends his sword sailing through the air again, watching it pierce through the distance and latch onto the side of mountain for his hand to grasp onto as he warp-strikes to relative safety.

He only idles in that spot long enough to recover more mana to cut a path down the back of the behemoth, his sword swapped out as fast as he can manage with a lance that digs straight into the creature's spine. It howls in pain as he pierces through what's left of its flesh and desiccated organs, the bones brittle enough to snap beneath the onslaught. 

The cerberus' wrath escalates as they continue to try and evade it, swinging its mouths towards all three of them while its purple-black liquid saliva starts to leak from the sides of its gaping jaw. The rocks the saliva lands on sizzle noticeably, a hissing noise that indicates it's acidic as if it wasn't enough of a threat already. 

"I don't like these odds!" Prompto shouts at them.

Neither does he as he jumps out of the way of the cerberus' snapping jaw once more only to be headbutt by a sabertusk from behind. 

"Ignis, are those flasks ready?" Gladio hisses in frustration, just barely fending off a rampant dynoaevis that decided to join the party at some point. 

"Just about," is the faint answer from somewhere in Noctis periphery, and the king decides to swap to one of his guns so he can at least shoot down the screeching bird down hounding his friend. 

The cerberus starts to barrel towards him after a few shots, thundering steps growing nearer until it completely tackles Noctis. His great sword immediately appears in hand, fending off its bite by stuffing the hard steel between its teeth and doing his best to push it off. It takes all the strength he can muster to keep those acidic teeth away, his own teeth gritting together with something close to a growl of frustration before an ice tundra starts to slowly expand across the ground beneath all of them. 

Ignis had apparently set up the flasks to detonate at a few critical points at the foot of the mountain, allowing four simultaneous blasts to go off to help impede the undead creatures. The cerberus' legs end up frozen solid to the ground along with the other undead beasts, roaring and whipping its heads from one side to another in frustration while it struggles to get free.

"We don't have a lot of time," Ignis calls out to him, "we must use this opportunity to start climbing upwards. We'll only have the wyverns to contend with further up." 

The opening will only last so long, so they hurriedly start grabbing on to the heated rocks jutting out from the side of the mountain, using them to pull their bodies up fast and try to escape the manic herds below. Gladio practically hurls Noctis ahead, pushing him up by the rear before making sure Ignis comes next. Prompto moves the quickest of them all, fear making him exert all those wiry muscles until he passes them all and starts reaching down to help Ignis climb.

"Keep going!" Gladio orders, playing caboose to their human train and kicking down the beasts that try and follow their climb.  

Wyverns fly by and attempt to knock them off at the same time with a violent swipe to their backs as stones start to become dislodged. Noctis' hands burn painfully, struggling to hold on while the atmosphere grows sweltering and suffocating higher up, the heat too abrasive in its embrace. It's hard to breathe at all with the fumes spewing out from more fissures along the mountain side, and Noctis can feel the sweat puddling against his back muscles and between his thighs as he tries to keep climbing. 

Another close swipe by manages to compromise Ignis' grip, the older man nearly slipping off completely. Noctis reacts as fast as body can allow him, holding on with one hand and grabbing Ignis' hand with the other, clenching it tight and forming a veritable lifeline with his hold as he glances down to make sure the other man is okay.

"I got you," he tells Ignis, willing the sweat on his palm not to undo his tenuous hold. 

"Sorry to trouble you like this."

Now really isn't the time to apologize, but Noctis doesn't bother telling him as much, instead hauling him up with the help of the other two. They manage to make it to one one of the many stone platforms, resting a bit and trying to fan some air down their chests as they pluck wildly at their shirts.

"We have a ways to go," Gladio unhelpfully points out, and Noctis doesn't want to look up and gauge the distance for himself. He's more worried about whether or not Ignis can make it, thinking he probably should have stayed behind, but they started this journey together,  they'll see it through together, a thought that harkens back to the quiet wish Ignis made that day when they first stopped at the royal tomb on the way to Gralea. Noctis' can't ignore his friend's will like that, wanting them all to tackle this trial as a single unit as they always have. 

The climb continues to prove perilous as the volcano quivers sporadically, dislodging their grip. The summit still looks too far out of reach, clouds hugging the tip on all sides and growing ever darker and murkier with the fumes spewing forth from the surface. They manage to slowly make it to another outcropping, balancing on the perilous ledge while wyverns try and shoot their lightning breath at them, and Gladio summons forth his shield to hold the attack at bay before turning to the rest of them. 

"The tremors are getting worse. We might not make it to the top at all if it gets closer to erupting." 

Going back down will most certainly lead their death as well. There are still too many beasts gathered there, amber eyes pointed up at them, waiting for just one of them to plummet. 

"Just keep going," Noctis tells him for lack of anything more reassuring. He doesn't know himself what they're heading towards, doesn't even know if this is just reckless endangerment at this point, but they won't know until they get to the top.

"The tomb of the fierce...," Ignis reminds them, "I believe the fire throne lies close by." 

The first time they'd come here, the volcano had been less active and a lot safer with only a few contemptuous wyverns to deal with, and even then, they'd had a few close calls while climbing. With the rocks all crumbling fast around them, it's difficult to get a solid grip, especially with his bare hands are being seared at the ends, leaving them numb from pain and exertion. His clothes aren't faring any better either, the molten heat degrading the sweat-damp fabric. He's also dying of thirst and overheating, doing his best not to faint as dark spots hug his vision. It's somehow worst than nearly freezing to death just a few days ago, his body falling prey to the extreme temperatures as his fingers start to loosen on their hold. _Just a little bit more_ he tells himself until a particularly violent tremor sends the stone he's attached to careening downwards. He doesn't even have time to feel terror as he falls backwards onto Ignis' body, knocking him off too until they both slam hard into one of the larger rocks cresting outwards.

The landing is a tenuous one as the rock threatens to crumble away from the side of the mountain, and Noctis does his best to scramble off Ignis and make sure he hadn't flattened his friend. 

"Don't move too fast!" Gladio calls to them, already starting to try and climb back down to them.

"We got this!" Noctis returns quickly, though he isn't feeling confident about that when Ignis isn't opening his eyes. His hand gently feels over his slack face as guilt wracks through him particularly hard, hoping he hadn't knock him out -or even worse, rupture his spine. He can't stop his grip from quaking in fear, quickly searching for one of his potions to try and help him. The soothing particles latch onto Ignis' skin as he cracks it open over him, quickly threading together broken flesh and tissue, and he feels a wave of relief when Ignis' eyelids twitch before he wheezes out from his slightly parted lips.

"I'm here," Noctis whispers, "and I hate to break it to you, but we're going to fall again, if we don't get back to climbing." 

He doesn't know how long this rock will hold the two of them with all the sand and stone spilling from underneath it, but those words seem to light a fire under Ignis' feet. The older man is quick to force himself back up to grab onto the mountain side, groaning roughly as he resumes his climb. Noctis helps push him upwards, letting him move away enough that Gladio can grab a hold of the back of his shirt and heft his weight higher. Once he's off, the stone collapses completely, taking Noctis' body with it as the king stares upwards in wide-eyed horror. Prompto is the first to yell out to him, going slack-jawed as he watches him while feeling too powerless.

Only instinct manages to save Noctis from falling all the way to the ground and to his death, his sword appearing in hand just barely after his descent. The edge of it is chucked hard in between two rocks, landing tightly against the surface so Noctis can warp-strike to it and clutch it with iron-knuckled grip. His breath spills out of him in labored pants, eyes still open wide as he tries to calm his manic heart, hoping panic alone won't rob him of consciousness. It's difficult to get enough oxygen inside of him as it is, the whole scene swirling with red and brown colors, ribbons of smoke billowing out and clouding his vision. He has to fight against his fear and exhaustion to keep pulling himself the rest of the way up until they reach the giant nest on top. 

Thankfully, it's empty, giving them all room to spread out on the ground and catch their breaths. Prompto's skin has grown red and blistered all over, and Noctis has to crack a potion on his hands so he can even move his fingers after. Gladio wipes at his own face and hands furiously with his soaked tank top before downing nearly a whole canteen's worth of water. 

"The tomb is just up ahead," Ignis tells them before taking a long swig from Gladio's canteen, "We will only have to brave a few more ledges." 

Prompto's resounding groan says enough for all of them.

"I'm boiling alive. I can't take it anymore." 

Noctis can't say he doesn't sympathize, ready to collapse in place. He isn't sure he can bear the heat any longer himself, and the strength of each quake compounds, destroying more of the foundation they walk on. The heat is so strong, it burns through the rubber soles of his shoes, making him feel as though he's walking barefoot over hot coal. 

As if in response to his distress, the ground starts to fracture beneath, a growing rift expanding and splitting the sediments completely. They all rush to leap to the same side as the shaking reaches its peak, lava start to pour forth from the ridge. 

"Run!" Gladio shouts, and they all take off in a desperate scramble, trying to out-run the molten lava that leaks out and eats the ground beneath them. 

Only the small section of the summit that houses the tomb remains untouched, solidifying their ultimate destination. Noctis hopes they can make it in time as he hoists himself onto the ledge and tries to hold onto wall behind, shuffling along the narrow path and doing his best not to lose his balance. His breath lies in his chest, the pressure of it growing painful as he tries to figure out where his own trembling ends and where the mountain's furious quakes begin. 

_'Almosttherealmosttherealmostthere...'_ he repeats in his mind, thinking of nothing else but how good it's going to feel when he gets far away from this place. A cold soak in the beach, the scent of the water twisting beneath his nose, Ignis' soft hair trapped under his fingers as he falls apart beneath him, his father's open arms waiting for him when he comes home, the cool touch of a younger Luna's hand against his, Prompto's warm smile greeting him in the morning, Gladio's mirthful laughter... so many pleasant memories to cling to, so many to guide him through this. He can't let them down. 

The ledge finally ends, and he leaps up the final step, hoisting himself up to where the tomb should be only to find it broken and shattered, desecrated. The stones lay strewn across the ground without a care from the one who shattered through it, and behind it sits a large, humanoid figure, his whole body shrouded by smoke and rising flames that dance across the platform. Horns from the top of his head curl towards his back from behind his gold-plated crown, making him look more daemonic than the undead, and part of his arm looks as though it had been injured by magic, the discoloration standing out starkly from his red-tinted flesh. Twin amber-colored eyes fall on Noctis, the same sickly unnatural shade the undead walked with, and he watches as the Infernian's lips curl ever so slowly before he steadily raises one hand.

With a flick of his wrist, flames shoot up powerfully from the ground, piercing through Noctis' body and making him scream as the heat blazes through his flesh and burns the surface of his chest. His eyes screw shut, trying to withstand the ferocity of it as it devours him in one fell swoop, and he doesn't stop crying out in agony until his throat aches.

"Noct!" someone yells, the voice indecipherable as his consciousness wavers, and his vision spins rapidly, the dark spots from before stretching over all the myriad of red flashes bursting from everyone direction until his body starts to fall backwards too fast, becomes weightless with no ground beneath him to catch him -eyes forlorn, cast upwards, watching his friends as they grow smaller and smaller. 

_'I'm sorry'_ he thinks to them, one hand outstretched towards them, wishing it wasn't all over this fast. He traveled so far to get here only to fall the moment the Infernian had even so much breathed in his direction. What kind of king can he call himself? It can't be over already.

_'I want to see them all again…please don't let it be over…'_

 

**020.**

 

The blue flecks that comprise Noctis' position are all Ignis can focus on, watching the faded threads that outline his body, the closest Ignis can come to seeing him after Prompto's piercing yell erupts next to him. The king's body had been flung from the summit only to be caught by some floating miasmic entity that envelops him tightly like a womb, the colors swirling around him feverishly and pulsing in a threatening manner while he hovers aimlessly off the ground. With his limbs hanging like a rag doll, it's clear he's far from conscious at the moment, leaving him all too vulnerable in the Infernian's grasp. 

While Ignis shouldn't be able to see the Astral at all, his form somehow appears stark against the darkness, perfectly in tact, his posture elegant and imperious as he sits upon an ornate throne. Jewels gleam out from the arm rests, red, blue, green, the designs all too arcane for Ignis to recognize. At the bottom lay thick ropes of flames, swaying beneath the Astral's large feet. His head rests poised on his curled arm, watching the king float with undisguised interest before pulling the orb towards him with unseen force.

When he speaks, the words drive hard into his skull, a headache blooming fast that makes Ignis grimace as he twists his fingers around his ears as though he can silence it. It's a sharp booming sound, scrambled and nonsensical in its foreignness. It echoes powerfully in his mind until his words slowly become more comprehensible as though they are being spoken directly to him. 

" **R** ise, **O** **K** ing of **K** ings, **W** retched **R** uler of **M** en. **E** nter the **K** ingdom of the **R** ighteous and **S** lay the **U** nworthy."

The incantation spirals around them, repeated in an unsteady crescendo that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He can see the swirling red ribbons around Noctis' form, lacing around him and slowly melding into his skin, and the bulbous orb of flames that's encasing him begins its gradual descent. Both Prompto and Gladio flank him quickly, weapons drawn as they prepare to try and grab the king, but the impact of the orb shattering blasts them all backwards. 

Too close to the edge, Ignis holds his breath and tries not to move, getting a hold of his bearings and ignoring the fresh wave of pain along his spine. The fall from before hadn't quite healed up entirely even with the strong potion Noctis used, and he feels the ache with every slightly move, causing him to flinch and grunt quietly as he sits up. Gladio is quick to race to his side, thick fingers lying between his shoulder blades as the volcano rocks in answer to the king's awakening.

" **A** nd so he **A** wakens," the Infernian declares as the ground shudders more violently beneath them, " **B** aptised by **F** ire, to **P** urge the **W** orld of its **M** ortal **C** urse." 

In the thickness of the dark, amber eyes flash, the distorted color framed by Noctis' normally alluring features, his hair blowing across his face as he marches forward with his sword in hand. Fire wafts from across his back, a flaming cape as he moves towards them as though completely possessed. The image is super-imposed with the Noctis of his dreams, the feline-eyed beckoning creature with horns that protruded from his skull, looking nothing like the gentle-faced man he knew him to be. It's as though everything that had comprised his will and being had been entirely erased, set into ash in favor of creating a puppet.

" **I** **M** oved **H** is **H** and **A** gainst the **U** surper. **I** **D** elivered the **U** surper from this **W** orld. **I** **C** onsecrated the **K** ing as the **S** avior."

His own eyes widen in shock, thinking back to the final blow Noctis had given, the light that erupted from him as the crystal's magic burst right through him. He'd been lead to believe he used its power, but perhaps the bright flashes behind his lids had been fire. The warmth billowing across his face, the way Noctis' body had been savagely engulfed. The one who'd been guiding his blade had not been Bahamut nor even Noctis himself. 

His mind quickly replays the conversation he had with the Draconian in his dream.

_"His fate is no longer in my hands, but he may one day walk down the same path of the Usurper"_

The pieces click into place finally, the hostility with which Bahamut received them, the repeated visions, the fact that the beasts can't infect humans. Ifrit had taken a hold of Noctis' true calling and warped it into something else -not to protect mankind but wipe it out entirely. Finish what he had begun. Use him as an avatar for his wrath. And they'd played right into his hands even with the repeated warnings that Ignis should have seen through. He curses inwardly, trying to take a hold of the panic overflowing inside of him, at a loss for what to do. The king staring them down is no longer their friend, though there is no telling how much of Noctis had been removed or if he still remains somewhere inside, bristling to get out. 

Those unnatural eyes continue to pin him in place, unwavering as though they read every single thought slipping through him, and the raised sword draws closer like a guillotine ready to deliver his sentence. Ignis knows he has to do something, but for once, he doesn't have a single plan at all, his mind jumbled with a surge of self-blame for allowing things to escalate this far and not doing more to aid his friend. 

He should have seen the signs. _He should have seen the signs._

The blade swings down fast before something blocks it. He hears metal clashing with metal, so he assumes Gladio must have caught it either with his own sword or shield. That buys him some time to dart out of Noctis' path as he tries to think of something they can do to snap Noctis out of the Infernian's control. 

"Noct, what are you doing?" Prompto calls out from somewhere to his left, his voice cracking with a mixture of shock and terror. 

He must not be willing to shoot his friend pointe blank, but he can hear Gladio struggling to fend off his blade just a few steps ahead. It's a futile battle because Noctis can easily overpower them, and he knows neither of them will last long, yet Noctis would sooner wish to be killed than to harm anyone he loves. It's what ushers him to take quick action, a lance appearing in his hands as he rushes forward to sweep Noctis' feet from underneath him. Since only the image of the Infernian and Noctis' forms permeates the darkness of his sight, it helps him remain hyper-focused on the king's movements as they tangle their weapons together. Gladio uses brute force from behind, slamming into Noctis roughtly to try and distract the king. 

Gunshots finally ring out, aimed more towards the ground before Prompto tells them to cover their mouths and noses. That's when the bio-blaster is unleashed, a thick heavy fog gathering around them that makes Ignis' head swim even with his shirt over his nose and mouth. He does his best not to inhale it and uses the long metal shaft of his lance to keep Noctis pinned to Gladio's shield.

"Noct, listen to me!" he tries, but it goes ignored as a blazing wall of fire ruptures from the ground, forcing both him and Gladio to scatter. 

His body is singed by the embers, flesh flayed and clothes ignited as he does his best to roll on the ground and pat himself. Prompto hurries towards him, patting the rest of his body before hugging one arm around him to drag him even further away to safety. 

"What do we do?" he whispers hoarsely, his voice wrought with heavy emotion. Ignis hasn't heard him sound that panicked since they had rescued him in Gralea, and he knows it's hardest for him out of all of them to set aside duty and take down his best friend. 

"We need to coerce our Noct out."

He still doesn't know how as his words had proven ineffectual moments ago, but he's far from giving up on him. Even though he promised the Draconian that he would slay the King if he ever had to, he knows he wouldn't be able to deliver the finishing blow. He promised King Regis first, a man who'd been almost like a father to him, all those years ago that he would protect Noctis at all costs. He can't go back on his word, no matter what.

"How is Gladio?" he asks as he tries to get a firm hold of his bearings.

"Still fighting Noct off." 

And hopefully managing better than himself. They don't have much time before Noctis starts using his deadlier spells on them, though he wonders if the Astrals will obey him at all like this. They had sided against the Infernian in the great war between gods. Would they truly allow Noctis to fall prey into the Infernian's hands and hand over their biggest weapon? As much as he would rather not think of his friend in such a dehumanizing way, it's what the Astrals have always seen him as. A pawn in their overarching plans for humanity, whose value comes only from his use. Even Bahamut had no qualms of destroying him the moment he realized Noctis would not fulfill his destiny. There has to be some way he can sway them to help. 

"Prompto, try and help Gladio distract him. I have an idea." 

A reckless one, but it's the only one he has. 

"Don't kill him," Prompto pleas in complete earnestness, his hands grabbing onto Ignis' with a firm squeeze.

"I won't let anything happen to him," he reassures Prompto, wishing those words felt more sincere. Truthfully, it may have to come down to that, but he still isn't sure if he can accept that fate. 

His friend scurries off to join the fray as Ignis summons forth the trident like he had last time, his instincts having driven him to do so to protect the king. This time, he seeks to disarm him somehow, pressing the bottom of the trident into the ground as he closes his eyes and pushes his forehead against the cold steel. Warm air starts to envelop him, the glow from it palpable as it throbs against his skin, ancient magic laced through it like a beacon as Ignis tries to think of what to say -what to even ask for. 

_'You must aid him. He is the king we all chose, and as he is, he will claim the lives of too many innocents in Eos. Please... come forth.'_

No response at all as his fingers quiver around the lance. Whether or not the plea reaches anyone's ears is something he can't determine as the atmosphere around him doesn't change at all. Gladio growls in the distance as he tries to contend with the force of Noctis' blows, and Prompto tries to slow down the king's advance by attacking from the rear. Another blast of flames throws the two of them off, their bodies piteously smacking to the floor as Ignis struggles to keep channeling power from within the trident. He repeats the same phrase in his mind, clenching his teeth together as the ground rumbles with each of Noctis' steps. He can see Noctis' figure growing more grotesque, veins running black as the horns growing from his skull start to resemble gnarled tree branches. His eyes are reduced to slivers, the schlera around it brimming with red veins as he moves to stab him.

_'Save our king! Please save our king! Save our friend-!'_

All Ignis can do is parry the blow with the trident and use its magic to try and shield himself, feeling it vibrate and thicken around him like a protective sphere until the ground stills almost forcefully. A frost-laced wind savagely blows through the rocky platform, immediately encasing everything in ice and leaving Ignis to nearly drop the trident as he shudders hard with the force of the cold. 

The Glacian's familiar lilt swims soothingly into his ear, lulling him to relax as her body passes right through him.

"I have heeded your call, child. We have _all_ heeded your call."

Enraged, Ifrit responds with booming steps stalking forward, his body seeming to grow as fire erupts out of his very flesh, enough that Ignis can feel the dual sensation of being scorched and frozen everywhere all at once. He shrinks back quickly for cover, still only able to see Noctis and the Astrals' forms clearly as both Noctis and Ifrit try to combat Shiva's icy fury. 

Beneath him, the ground ruptures further without warning, stones cracking fast and leaving him tumbling off the edge until an enormous hand grabs him. It cradles him tightly and protectively as the air sizzles with a potent current that enshrouds the two of them. The sound of thunder rips through the skirmish, a lightning charge piercing the fire god as he watches him crash to the ground in pain. 

His own head continues to whip wildly towards all the other sounds, trying to locate Gladio and Prompto but not hearing them at all over the onslaught of destruction. He does watch Noctis' blade easily break through the lighting bolt as he charges  towards him only to slice downwards and cut Ramuh in half as though he were made of paper. More tendrils of red fire spread out of Noctis, looking more like wings as he grabs a hold of Ignis by the neck and floats them to the base of the volcano. There, he slams him roughly against the ground, causing pain to explode across Ignis' spine as he cries out soundlessly. His eyes grow wet out of reflex, fingers moving around to press into Noctis' wrist, trying to stop him from strangling all the air from him. In the background he spies Bahamut emerging from parted clouds like a heavenly knight, the golden sword of the first raised and aiming to pierce Noctis in the back to end his tirade once and for all.

Dread fills him fast, unable to move while he's this badly immobilized, and he calls out Noctis' name to warn him before turning away his face to shroud himself from the onslaught of light that brims outwards from where Noctis is stabbed right through. The king's eyes widen in shock and pain, staring straight at Ignis as his face grows pale as he tries to mouth his name in return. Only a hoarse sound falls out as his body remains unmoving on top of him. 

Ignis immediately tears himself from the ground the moment Noctis' grip grows slack around his neck, and he rushes to hug him to himself fast, embracing him while the Draconian floats overhead.The large gleaming wings made of swords expand imperiously as the Astral watches them, his eyes showing neither remorse nor solemnity, and so much of Noctis' blood starts to pour forth from his wound onto his own body and the ground all around them, streaming without relent, fresh, warm, and red.

"Noct," he whispers in disbelief as he shudders from both grief and revulsion.

The king's eyes stare at him in return, owlish and frightened as he raises a trembling hand to cup Ignis' cheek.

"So...rry," he tries to whisper in a raspy, eroded voice, his face mired in so much sadness and regret. 

There was nothing any of them could do to save him in the end. Ignis had only lead him straight to his grave, and all for what? To lose the world's only living symbol of hope. _To lose their king._

A yellow light pulses from the sword wound, the edges starting to expand into cuts that spread out and break through more of his skin, causing Noctis to decay fast. All Ignis can do is watch despondently as his friend starts to die in front of him, lowering his forehead to Noctis' and squeezing his eyes shut as though he can somehow will him to live longer. He feels so helpless right now.  

_'No...'_ he thinks to himself, the sound repeating itself with growing fury inside his head, tears starting to blot his vision more angrily. " _No_ ," he repeats out loud this time, his voice scared and anguished, wishing he could have done more, always wishing.  

Had it all been so futile? He doesn't want to let go of the memories they all had yet to make with him, all the words he still has left to say, all the smiles he wants to feel under his fingertips, the smell of the sea always wafting from Noctis' skin begging to be inhaled completely...

This was not enough. _His return was not long enough._

As if sensing his distressed pleas, something bright, hot, and luminescent sprouts from between their tightly compressed chests, emerging embers that start to slowly twine around the two of them until they cover their bodies like a cocoon, and he feels the barrier oscillate without control, the unbidden embrace of an unknown sensation that slides across his limbs. It continues to shroud their bodies as flecks of gold rain down from above, obscuring the rest of the world around them.

Ignis doesn't know _what_ he's doing or _if_ he's the one doing it, but he feels the pronounced sensation rippling through him, a blistering light that crawls through his own veins, relaxing him into a strange, unbidden calm. His eyes shut against the pleasant feeling, continuing to cradle Noctis' body close before touching his damp hair softly. There's blood and sweat matted into the strands, an undercurrent of filth and debris also making his hair gel together unpleasantly, but he can still inhale the scent that's purely Noctis beneath it all. He keeps breathing it in to retain his sanity, having blocked out the savage duel of the Astrals overhead, and his arms tighten around Noctis almost unconsciously at the thought that this might be the end, his chin coming to rest on his head before he realizes he's starting to be pulled into a delirious slumber. The duress of all their recent trials catches up to him all at once, and there's nothing he can do at all to stop the exhaustion from conquering every other need his body has at the moment. 

This time, it feels like absolute bliss to sink into his dream, eager to escape reality for a bit. 

 

**021.**

 

The light crawls over his face as Ignis awakens slowly to both the dawn's welcoming heat and the dew-covered grass beneath his body. A heavy arm lies on his chest trapping him to the ground, the owner's rough beard pressed against his own neck, making it all too tempting to sleep in a bit longer. His fingers idly thread through his companion's chin length hair, curling around the ends before allowing them to spill out from between his fingers. 

Overhead, the birds chirp manically, welcoming the sun as it starts to climb over the horizon line, and Ignis knows his royal highness won't be up for another hour or so -if he's lucky. That gives him ample time to prepare a hearty breakfast for him, but first, he'll have to find a way to escape his grip, a feat that proves to be rather difficult when Noctis is so intent on using him as a body pillow. 

Next to him, his phone starts to vibrate, signaling the time, though Ignis can usually gauge pretty well by now depending on where the sun hits his face. He only allows it to tremble briefly before turning it off, unwilling to disturb Noctis as the days when he actually gets to rest are so few and far between. The two of them had barely gotten a chance to get out of the Citadel in weeks, trapped in an endless cycle of meetings and debriefings, the latter of which dealt with insurgents comprised of Niflheim's refugees, young teenagers who grew up under the umbrella of the empire and had bought into the rhetoric that Noctis had been responsible for their downfall -which, in many he ways, he had been. But the true culprit had always been the chancellor manipulating both Verstael and Emperor Aldercapt to mass produce the daemons. 

Those who hadn't been daemonized had fled the capital and had hidden in many nearby hovels, amassing weapons and interfering with the rebuilding of Tenebrae. The castle had, at least, been restored completely with a statue of Luna placed on a garden of sylleblossoms that stretches around the entrance, the scent always overpowering whenever Ignis goes with Noctis to visit both Ravus' and Luna's graves. They always bring them bouquets of their own homegrown Lucian flowers that stick out sorely in the sea of violet, but Noctis had felt that Luna would have appreciated the gesture -a meeting of two households. A marriage that was not meant to be.

Even now, the king remains unwed much to the media's constant scrutiny, many outlets still prodding him to find a wife and create an heir. It's a sore subject for Noctis still, carrying with him the fear that he'll doom whatever child he has to the same fate as himself. He hasn't given up the idea that the Lucis line will end with him, and Ignis hasn't pressed him at all, too busy with all their joint responsibilities to even think of children himself, whether through surrogacy or adoption. Besides, he rather enjoys being able to escape like this from time to time, the two of them returning to the same spot in Duscae where they once long ago craned their heads towards the stars, letting the faint lights swarm them overhead. If Ignis had known he'd never be able to see them again, he would have spent more nights simply watching the twinkling lights move across the sky and would have memorized the way the reflection of stars had always crafted themselves into an eternal sea across the bottomless depth of Noctis' eyes.

He still misses the sight of them, constantly catching himself tracing the space beneath the king's bottom lashes forlornly, rubbing over the faint lines starting to form there as Noctis' youth is being slowly drained away. It's hard not to think of the future sometimes as Noctis transforms subtly each time he touches him, and perhaps, he's clinging to the secure feeling buried within his warm and solid presence and avoiding dealing with the very real possibility that Noctis will pass away long before any of them. Even with his extra sight, he has yet to see the exact day, but it makes him appreciate the comforting solitude with him all the more, where he can freely inhale the earthy scent wafting from Noctis' dew-damp hair and turn the king's head just a little more so he can press his lips to some of the perspiration on his jaw, a move that earns him an irritated swat to the face.

Lips quirking up in amusement, Ignis takes that as his cue to pull himself out of the tight embrace and find the string attached to his travel bag. A few tugs drags it close to him so he can grab a fresh pair of clothes, dressing quickly as more light starts to pierce through the canopy of trees overhead and the open tent flap. His muscles are still sore from the evening before, but he pays it no mind as he traces his path back towards the king's private car, a custom beauty designed by Cid as a birthday gift a few years ago. 

The portable grill is stowed in the back, simple enough to assemble as his hands move with practiced ease. Today's menu is eggs sunny side up, bacon, and potato cuts, the billowing smell of which causes the king to stir. Ignis always purposely cooks upwind to lure the king out of bed quicker, a tactic that works excellently when Noctis stumbles from their dual sleeping bag, yawning loudly. 

The rest of his clumsy slog ends with him parked behind Ignis, draping invasively over his body as the hair on his cheek scratches starkly against Ignis' smoother one. 

"You should shave. It isn't proper for a king to look so unkempt," Ignis absently comments before slapping away the hand that he knows is trying to surreptitiously reach over and steal the bacon. It's still far too raw to eat. 

"If it bothers you that much, then _you_ do it," Noctis mutters, his voice laced with all the grogginess of his perpetual cranky state before noon. 

"The last time I tried, you wouldn't forgive me for nearly nicking your jugular vein." 

That had been an exercise in trust for the both of them, one that Noctis would have passed with flying colors had he the ability to sit still for long periods of time. Some things never change with him, but he secretly doesn't mind feeling the brush of his beard, finding it on to have its own allure on occasion, especially when he drags the small, spindly hairs along the insides of his thigh or tucks his face into his neck after sex.

"Okay, okay, I'll trim when I get back. Any other demands while I'm up?" 

"Return Prompto's five missed calls, Gladio texted something that the voice app refused to repeat, and accept the e-invite Iris sent you." 

"Anything else?" Noctis presses, his fingers drawing distractedly over Ignis' hips, the pure heat of them melting through his clothes as the King stands against him like a second skin.

Ignis twists his head over his own shoulder as he gives Noctis a small, furtive smile.

"Happy Birthday, Noct." 

If he has anything else to add to that, it's lost in the hard press of Noctis' mouth, his breath sucked away fast between the king's swollen and cracked lips. _If this is another dream, don't let him ever wake from it…_

 

-The End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1- Though I've seen a lot of oracle!Prompto fanworks out there, I hadn't seen a lot of Ignis ones, so I kind of got this idea when thinking of the blind prophet, Tiresias. This whole fic was born from trying to recreate the feeling of a Greek epic like the Odyssey, and everyone's struggle to finally go home after so long. I also wanted to throw in some gods wreaking havoc because why not? Add to that a bit of good old fashioned biblical apocalypse and voila! Many liberties were taken with game lore, so let's call it artistic license.  
> 2- This was started so long ago... I was trying to get it done for Noctis' bday then trying to get it done for Halloween then trying to get it done in time for Nano...  
> 3- Well, at least it's done before episode Ignis so go me!  
> 4- Happy or sad ending depending on how you want to interpret it. Though i had originally planned something a lot darker, @orchidias wanted something lighter so here we go. Take it however you wish.  
> 5- Sorry this got long and rambling again, but thank you for reading if you made it this far!


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